LatinosUSA

{A story poem} 

In the quiet of twilight, where the edges of dreams blur with reality, an old man stands before a door. It is not just any door; it is the door. Weathered wood, splintered by time, and hinges rusted with a forgotten life. The door stands as a sentinel of memory, guarding the threshold between what was and what could be. 

He reaches out a trembling hand, fingers tracing the grain, feeling the stories etched into its surface. Each line, each knot, a chapter of a life lived. The door is heavy with the weight of years, yet it swings effortlessly in the realm of dreams, inviting, beckoning. 

In a room somber with twilight, 
an old man sits, 
his silhouette 
a ghost of yesterdays. 
 
Shadows span across the walls, 
whispering secrets of time, 
silent witnesses 
To dreams once held, now dissolved. 
 
His hands, rough and worn, 
trace patterns in the air, 
a ritual of absence, 
a prayer for what was lost.
 
The clock ticks on, 
a metronome to his solitude, 
each second a heartbeat, 
every minute of a lifetime. 
 
The door is freedom, 
beckoning, seducing,
promising a life of  
memories untold, unshared. 
 
The prison of the room 
as silence reigns supreme;
he finds a kind of peace, 
a quiet place to dream. 

Copyright © 2025 Carl Scharwath
All Rights Reserved

Carl Scharwath, has appeared globally with 175+ journals selecting his writing or art. Carl has published four poetry and photography books He was nominated for four The Best of the Net Awards (2021-24) and two different 2023 Pushcart Nominations for poetry and a short story.