Encapsulated in it's own world
Of Stories
Heroically, Doors stand upright
Telling tales of yesteryears
Happy or Sad.... Horrific or Romantic
No one knows
With rustic scraped look
They captivates with a nook
Creaking with pain or joy
Scraping up the mysteries to enjoy
Red, yellow, blue or green
All have gone who might have seen
Forgotten stories they hold
Who knows?
Today they might be made of Gold.
~03/10/2020~
©Copyright Deeप्ती
I like the image of doorways to stories. Every story is its own opening, yes? Great poem!
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot Jennifer.. yes indeed ...
DeleteLovely images.This one brought a smile. How life goes in circles..😊
ReplyDeleteYeah thats right...☺
DeleteGreat poem !! Loved the imagery of doors and stories ...!!!
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot Nima🙏
Delete