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This poem is set in the Tomorrowlands universe; other TTU material is listed at

The Closed Door

© 2001, Kaijima A. Frostfang

He sighed at the world.
Looking for another place,
he saw a door standing alone.
It would not open.
His hand did not fit the knob.
He cried.

Everywhere he went there was the door.
It haunted him like an old shade
that would not be laid to rest.
He could see the other world
through the cracks in the frame.
He cried.

The years passed.
The door was hidden,
concealed behind odds and ends,
behind the baggage of life.
Only an occasional glimmer
of light from the other side.

The world was not so bad.
He grew accustomed to the hustle and bustle
of everyday life.
He took the meaning he was told
he should appreciate.
He no longer cried.

Every so often a dream would whisper.
"Come home. You have the key."
But he had already made a home.
There was nowhere else to go.
He had not seen the door for years.
He decided it never existed.

It happened one day that he saw a dream.
This dream was walking.
It could not be.
Another had found the door,
and stepped through it.
Was it possible?

With hesitation, he began to dig
through the cast-off refuse of life.
Along the way he found a mirror.
He had not looked in years.
Looking for that which was absent.
But now he saw a faint shadow.

And it made him wonder.
He looked at his hand,
which long ago had not fit.
And it seemed different somehow.
With heart racing,
he shoved aside the remaining obstructions.

Now before the door once again.
Ages of dust and cobweb cover it.
The wood had lost its shine.
But through the cracks, still was light.
He put an eye to a crack.
He peered.

On the other side he saw ...
All the wonders denied him.
Dreams made flesh.
He saw others like him,
who had found the same door.
They had gone ahead; gone beyond.

He reached down and pulled on the knob.
It slipped in his fingers, but he fought.
Through the struggle, he felt change.
His fingers gripped a new way.
He pushed hard, he slammed it.
He screamed at it.

And suddenly the door flew open.
The blazing light seared his eyes,
so used to a dim world.
He stumbled through, falling.
The air seemed free of decay,
that he had not even known was there.

Everything was different.
He looked with new eyes.
Stood on new feet,
with the wind kissing new flesh.
And he realized he was lost.
He trembled.

He turned and saw the open door behind.
The world was still there.
He looked at himself and wondered,
how one could live a dream.
For this could be nothing other.
The world beckoned.

Here in this place,
he did not know what he would do.
And the thing he had become,
had no place in the world.
He realized he had been foolish.
He had desired the impossible.

Now he felt fear.
His life was in the world.
For all his dreams,
he knew not how they could sustain him.
He felt sadness,
that dreams could not be made so.

But he knew the right course.
His place was in the world.
The time clock was not so bad.
The hustle and bustle were acceptable.
Just part of life.
The only life he had.

With a final look around dreamland,
he stepped back toward the threshold.
The dream pulled at him, seductive.
He paused for a moment,
but assured himself this was right.
It was the only responsible thing.

And as he crossed the threshold,
he felt as if something was ripped out.
He knew giving up a dream would hurt.
But it had to be done.
He looked down at his hands,
which were now as they had ever been.

The door closed softly behind him.
Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light.
And he waited to see
his familiar world swim into view.
He waited.
And waited.

And he felt fear again.
He stepped forward,
wanting the reassurance of his life again.
He wanted to lose himself in the hustle.
And it did not come.
Panicking, he began to run.

He coughed on dry, dusty air.
All around him, the world was gone.
In its place, a vast desert.
Confused and lost, he wandered.
His feet sank in shifting sands.
The world had gone away.

He thought about his life.
He thought about the dream.
And the realization dawned.
His life had been the illusion.
His dream had been real.
He whimpered.

The dream had scared him,
because it was not the easy path.
He feared that path.
But now he knew
it was the only path.
He struggled to return.

He ran and ran.
Looking for his special place.
He searched for the door.
Across plains of blowing sand,
he could not retrace his steps.
His search grew desperate.

At last he came upon it.
The door had fallen;
it now lay upon the sand.
Nothing more than weathered wood.
No magic lay behind it.
He looked around himself.

Everywhere, a wasteland.
He had the key inside himself,
he now understood.
At last.
The dream had been home.
He looked at the door.

It had been his own soul
that he had closed the door on.
All that he had known before
was the petty lie.
Told to his own self.
To live another day.

And now he had neither.

And he fell to his knees.

And he cried once more.

And the wind blasted his face.

And there were no tears left.

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Page created June 10, 2001. Design (c) 2001 Tad "Baxil" Ramspott.