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Through the Doors

This poem was written when I was fifteen, a while after I attempted suicide. Although I was at this time in a state of depression, the situation I was in made me see life from a whole different perspective.


I believe that there are doors,
To every section of my life,
The one of two that has opened,
Is the door of toil and strife.

The other is that of dreams,
That I couldn't see,
I tried to peer beyond,
But nothing visible to me.

Nothing to look at,
Nothing to feel,
No where to lie,
No where to kneel.

So I tackled the corridor,
In search for escape,
Peered through every keyhole,
At the foot of every pace.

I saw many doors,
But none that look appealing,
None of them grew close,
To what I was feeling.

You were not by my side,
So there I stood alone,
Calling for you,
In that desperate tone.

I had no-one there to guide me,
To advise the right or wrong,
No-one to hold my hand,
Especially yours,
In which I long.

So I tried another door,
And at that door I knocked,
But October ninth was the night I found,
That heavens door is still locked.


Tara Bennett

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