the first door
I approach the door I see in my dreams. The shifting dreams I've had for the past few nights. Sometimes its the same door, sometimes it's new. So each night, I focus and describe it in this journal The door, so that one night I can choose.
The Golden Door
Walking towards this door is like waking up on the first day of summer. I can feel the heat escaping, like sidewalks and grass clippings. Its morning as you touch the door frame. Intricate vine designs pour across the ligaments of its frame.
The gentle pulse, like the heartbeat of the wind, cool ~ dandelions puffs sailing into the afternoon heat.
Laughter. So sweet and innocent I almost instinctively grab the door handle and twist, but thats when I see the door handle.
Gnarled and dark, spent. Examining the opener I see faces. Faces that have been twisted and turned so many times the bodies are indistinguishable against each other.
A throne of faces wound into the intricate turner.
Macob and beautiful, youth forever locked in a dance