You ever had your hand hover so close to
the door you can feel the breeze whizzing
across your face in anticipation for the slam?
You ever tire of expecting respect from a world
so self imposed, they can’t even see it is their
own fair hands that are tainted in the blood
that will carry them to the devil’s door?
Have you ever felt that lunge as the rope
tugs you down and you turn to see the
devil smirk ..and oh how I wish
I could say the rose tinted glasses
of her mate…but have you ever felt that
knowing of being purposefully second,
the fall back guy when the world
collapses not worthy to stand at
their side….or behind ..or in front
Just the empty echo within a shadow of a shadow.
You ever felt the dirty stench of a smirk
emitted from the puppeteers lips? Soon
after their well crafted words of guilt,
shame and display of visual imagery.
Oh but the dance of vanity a tango for two.
You ever felt that cool breeze across
flushed cheeks as the door slams shut?
Karen Hayward ©2017 image and word’s
A poem based on a combination of observation, infj personality trait ‘the door slam’ and reflection.