There is a door.
It is always locked.
No earthly light
Ever allowed inside.

Who knows
Where this door
May lead.
Do we even care?

We pass it daily.
We turn to stare,
Curiosity growing
Like a mushroom in the dark.

"Who is behind it?"
"Who lives there?"
"Why is it locked?"
We whisper as we pass.

Perhaps someday
I will pause a while,
And knock upon that door.
Ask if I may enter

Just to say,
"How do you do?"
As I have thought of doing
Many times before.

Life is too short,
Or so I've heard it told,
For locked away souls
To never be embraced.

Let me find a way in
Before the air runs dry;
Lift the soul of someone
Before their dreams are drowned.

So let me knock upon that door
And make their house a home
Before the loneliness they feel
Follows them into their graves.