It’s like a big mahogany door,
That shuts bang in your face
And says you can’t get in.
Sorry you have no pass key.
It deems you unworthy of the carpet
The woolen carpet there in
That your sore feet could rest upon.
A haven for your blistered soles.
So it drags you back to that darkness,
Of a dungeon devoid of expression
Cold and lifeless
Of a path of the past.
A rocky path you know all too well,
That trod your feet sore
So down drops your laden body
You shall tarry there a while.