The Book of Doors

A book of doors opened in front of me

And on that very first page was one that was locked.

Hammered and battered, the door knob shattered

It sat there closed off and blocked.

So I turned the page to see a door of books

Open wide like the legs of a lover

Lying in wait, like a fish on a plate

On a table too long for its cover.

Then I turned to page three of the book of doors

And found no door in a room

All the books had been cleared, as though something they feared

And all that was left was the broom.

A book of doors closed behind me

And so all that could be seen was behind

My soul it did yearn, my head it did turn

But no book of doors could I find.