Door Detour

How many times
 have I dashed by
 these old, dated doors,

scurrying to escape 

the sizzling woes of 

insufferable summer heat?

Other times, 
during siesta silence,
 I seize the moment
 for quiet guidance,

 to search for traces,
clues and close-ups, 
on faces fluted, chipped,
 worn out;

cosmetic character flaws, perhaps,
 but strong footsteps to solid souls.

 Further down the cobblestone,
gates, freshly painted
to look smooth and sleek,

provide a framed perspective,
and an exclusive peek into

 a courtyard of potted petals.

All quite charming, 
these updated, made-up metals,
 but where's that marked intrigue,
   that lost mystique, so present in
 their wrinkled, weathered elders: 

the wooden, but charred, 
the hollow, scarred, and marred,
 the mossy, crooked and ajar?

The last of these gems,
 en route to my own residence,
bordered by a grove stacked
with bitter, black fruit,

a stony structure stands
 sound and solitaire, despite

  its broken window and door.

And, although 
exposed to elements 
unforgiving and unfair,
it bears no evidence
in its stoic air, of a
 core, torn or dishonoured.

Thanks for visiting!

 xo
Poppy

All images: 
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