The Slatted Door

[alatos]

The noble poetry of love and light –
that raptured vision of the hopeful soul,
a fatty fish content within its bowl –
I will not babble out tonight.
 
Tonight, I stand and face the slatted door.
Emptiness peers through its antique cracks,
pleading innocence to the blood-caked floor,
the scrapes where fated fingers raked their tracks.
 
I stand, and face the slatted door alone.
The loveless, hopeless hallway straight and long,
each side-door bolted, locked, and boarded strong,
the door I entered in has turned to stone.
 
And so, I walk towards the slatted door.
My breathing and my footsteps stir the dust,
releasing it from rotting wood and rust
in sinister bloom, each particle a spore.
 
I walk, and know that love could never save.
The dreadful room is empty, after all.
I dimly hear its voiceless, luring call…
the sound of nothingness – the thing I crave.