The Old Oak Door
Stumbling through the cream papered corridor
The ruby red rug shuffling under my Wholly odd socks
peppered in specks of gold
like an Alice in Wonderland dream
There is no Alice, this is no dream
The red rug ends merging to the old oak door.
Now etched in green.
Darkness awoken by the dimly lit lamp
Casting a shadow in the role of a stranger tracking their victim in the dead of night
A quiet echo of shuffling feet can be heard
Down the narrow corridor to the old oak door.
Now Etched in green.
Reaching out with my hand to the neglected dull, brass handle
Burns as it turns
A chill to the touch
Creaks and groans like being rudely awoken in the early morning hours
Rolling over, protected by the heavy winter quilt
A gentle tug to the oak door
Now etched in green
The deep buzz of life outside my castle fills the slumbered corridor behind me
Then locking it inside
like trapping an unsuspecting fly in a spiders web
Desperatly squirming to escape
Only to tie up its destiny as the spider spies it feeble prey
Closing the old oak door.
Now etched in green.
Dancing alternatively on each leg
My hand stretches deep inside these blue tattered jeans.
Shuffling to catch a light
Cigarette resting on these red razored lips
Waiting impatiently for the right hand flame
Three times cracking the flint like the caveman i have quietly become
Not noting the exact date of feeling pitifully grey
Creaking, wheezing and pained
I feel it today
Just like the old oak door.
Now etched in green.
One more crack of the whip, the flint ignites the fuel
Invites the dirty smoke filled air to be inhaled into my already smoke stained lungs
A final breath, extinguished, then relinquished
Temporary contented
Memories of uncontrolably gulping a cold glass of sweet cordial on a sweltering summers day
Knowing more will only partly cure
the heated August thirst
Turning back down the shadily lit corridor
Stalked by the dark stranger on the cream papered walls
Furthering from the old oak door.
Now etched in green.