beyond the doors

I am solid ground
with hands that remember their purpose
thoughts flowin calmly
instead of racin thru burnin rooms
I am midnight’s child
bare chested in the winter wind
scratchin at walls
that didn’t hold me in yesterday
storms burnin my throat
I am a parkin lot prophet
breathin chaos into life
hands conductin symphonies
only I can hear
I am empty rooms
with dust filled corners
where bottles once stood
markin time in liquid measures
I am all of these men
and I am none of them
never knowin if todays door
leads to healin
or hauntin
to revelation
or ruin
to salvation
or silence…