The door slam.


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. 

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