Just something I whipped up today…An Ode To A Doorknob
Well rounded and depending
on the day, brightly shining from the sun’s brilliant bronze cacophony.
Sometimes you’re cold,
at other times you’re too hot to touch.
And there are times when you’re image reflects much brighter than any
mirror could ever hope. And then, there
are also those times that you’re so smeared with dirty prints and dustiness,
that nothing can be seen at all.
We touch you, and each
time you allow us in. Or you don’t.
You touch us; each
time you let us out. Or you won’t.
You’re there.
When you’re working you
never seem to move.
Yet when you’re working,
you always seem to move for those who take the time to turn and see. And still,
because of our love or neglect, you, like us, change completely, again and
again, through the ins and outs, cyclicality persists, again and again and
through and through.
