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Door poems: Escape is through the eyes by Mariah Pompa



The side of the gym,
Ancient yet the outside was brand new,

Deceptive as always,
As most schools do,

My number always got a puddle when it rained,
Uneven black top never paid for,

But even the new white walls have cracks,

Branching out along the surface making me want to trace it with my fingers,

Part of me wants to follow it with a pen or a paint brush,

Opening others  eyes to my mind,

I saw the curve of the splintered cracks and though of an arch way,
a door way to some other world,

It was made of mahogany but was frozen,
Forever open just a crack,

Just enough to see the world beyond,
But not be part of it,

Daydreaming away until a whistle startles it,

Ruining colors,

Fantastic sights just beyond the door frame,

I'm left standing there on an uneven number,

The world goes dull and grey.















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