I have written poetry for many years and often feel pictures tell stories on their own. This one I thought spoke loud and clear.

Into the past she searches alone,
Through the old doorways,
Of what she once called home.

Memories of anguish I heard her say,
With things she’s chosen to hide,
Things she must forever put away.

There are few things she cherished there,
One the love and protection of an Angel,
Always willing to keep a family from fear.

The door like a locked jail, it’s dark and gray,
Often conveying tears to her tired eyes,
When her mind commenced to stray.

A family each with a torn heart,
Overcome with hurt from birth,
Protected by love of an Angel from the start.

An old entrance into the past,
Haunting memories well hidden,
of a curse, that once was cast.

A childhood fear locked away, alone
Buried behind the dark gray door,
An old entrance into the past, once their home.

Rose M. Rideout
Ottawa, Ontario
  Submitted By: Rose M Rideout