Doors and Cars
Doors and Cars
We live in a world of doors, some open and some not.
One opens sometimes, another opens hardly ever.
The visitors from each unknown always different, yet some so familiar.
Some welcome, others begrudgingly let into the sanctuary.
Just like the proverbial death, many things can represent just one.
Death, whether by accident or direct causality, will take my life.
But what of those that beget from my own decisions?
What if I and only I was the one who drove my vehicle harboring life?
Scrapes and dings along the car, that which was once a beaut.
I had been given, the "gift of life."
I had questions if it really was the gift it had been known to be.
Alas I do not, would not, welcome death no more than any stranger.
Maintenance, upgrades and test drives have been done.
Reluctantly or not, I had driven forward, often in circles.
It is on its last legs, coughing and sputtering.
As the tank dwindles down, the car will eventually stop.
All doors closed, save for one afar front of me.
The room fills with liquid, seawater from origin unknown.
It has been going on for few years, I suppose, I just wasn't bothered by it.
Only when my breath nigh gone, do I begin to truly notice.
Struggling to stay afloat amongst debris of my past and present.
The pocket of precious air ever-decreasing.
My life flashes before my eyes, ah how I'd love to stop my kicking.
Ah, how I would treasure all this to end, for that door to finally open.
That one I had sought for so long, inquiring through knocks and echoes.
One adjacent to it had opened, but a crack revealing only a portion of the goods.
Mysteriously, however, the water does not let out to that one.
But I was sure it wasn't coming in through it either.
The water has stopped rising, just below my neck.
What I would give, for that accursed and beloved door to open.
So that I may swim through it at last, cross the threshold.
Into the desired lands beyond.
Were I but a locksmith, or one of strong fortitude, I could hope to pass it.
By brawn or brain, I would be on the other side, enjoying my spoils.
All that surround me are reminders of the past, scars everywhere.
When will my air run out, when will my tank empty?
Helpless but to wait for my inevitable doom, wishing it would come but dreading it.
Just a jumble of nonsensical images and words, all I am.
What use is a gun without ammo, a bow without arrow.
All I can hope is I would be smelt into something greater, part of something bigger.
So that I may fill the tank that others rely on.
Written by Ephemeral_Dreams(c)-Do not distribute or share without permission.
Done while staring at the night sky of Kansas at 23:02 at night after a 4 day-Labor-Day Weekend.
Fun was had, more thinking was had, even more pondering was done. :)
please comment and rate as it is- I did put more...emotions into it, less rhyming. felt like...deviating from the norm.
Thinking of writing a story, perhaps. Any/all ideas will be appreciated (free commissions are done as well if you want.) with the grounds that it HAS to have Flamedramon in it-for being the hottest digi, there aren't enough stories out there. I take offense!
-Ephy.