Poetry / Your Door
your door is moving,
unlike the others naively stuck
in the stillness of your street…
from the rainbow of memories
only two colours united remain
innocence has been stolen, never lost
now your door is in pain..
in the stillness of your street…the door’s
mourning the quality and cost of it’s number,
the absence of the beat stayed like a stubborn stain,
so you created your own
the spirit of sixty five now turned black with rot.
the moving time fell through, but
gentle melody has breathed into life.
rainbow of now, birthed from its number..
sixty five
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I understand what you are trying to say, but it is not coming out clearly. Stanza 4 needs reworked – there is no flow or rhythm to it. You use door many times. Maybe a synonym or analogy to break up the repetition?
Nice start.
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