Portal Afterlife

 
This house was small and the emotional
Tides sloshed, joy ebbing, misery flowing.

The old wood faded to gray, the door’s
Torn knots blinded through the years.

The iron bands hang limply, embracing
Missing pieces, ravaged by sun and wind.

The echoes long since silenced, the
Occasional rasp of the hinges stilled.

The petrified door kneels awkwardly,
One last grasp on its past, on its
Last rusting hinge.