In my own comfort
And my own apprehension
I close my eyes
To attempt this elusive
Thing called sleep
My father
Thank you, forgive me
Sanctified, kingdom, heaven and earth
And before I know it there I am
In the hall of my memories
Tar black semi-gloss walls
The halls end too far for my tiered eyes to see
Illuminated by a single bulb of light
Swinging high above the black floors
Of red, green and white doors
With each swing creating shadows
Fearful, sad
Regretful but seldom glad
So many green doors
Green like the Grinch doors
The green of fear
Mistakes, anxieties, hideous truths
The green of a world
Where life is passively visited
A lived that never was
An existence that was but illusion
A spectator in another’s plan
Regretful green
The color that torments my days
And Haunts my every night
The red doors beautiful and far between
Doors of flowers, gardens, love
Laughter, faith, comfort
Reward and safety
Behind these doors is Me
Garden, soil, stem, thorn and rose
Untainted, unravaged
Clear minded, open hearted
Sun warming my face
Life flowing thru my veins
Me, whole soul and mind
Where I get as much as I give
Not that I would ever ask
But it’s nice to get a love
Almost as nice as it is to give a love
So I close my eyes, again
Praying for only sleep
Peaceful, beautiful black nothingness
Inevitably there I am
The hall of my life
My memories, my fears
Of unlived dreams and ever present nightmares
Sometimes I pass the doors slow
Touching each one
As a remembrance of what they hold
I touch one, feeling the twinge of the hurt
Another with a prick on the tips of my fingers
The hate is always an electric surge thru my hand
And the doors of fear
I feel their doom, the heaviness
It’s all consuming power
Like a vacuum sucking away my determination
My will pass thru my hand
to the monster that lives within
It’s not the slow reminiscent walks
That I fear so much
It the maddening
The spinning, dizzying, mad dash
On a broken conveyor belt
The vortex thru the hall of my memories
Where doors come to life
Becoming breathing living entities in themselves
Black and white picture shows of my past moments
Some I recall and some I don’t
All reaching out fighting to pull me in
Clawing at me pulling me in every direction
Like selfish little children
Despite the fact that I’ve given
All I have and now stand empty
They still want more of me
These nightmares of me
Want to be the death of me
I fight to find my way out of this torrent
of selfish memories
Trying to find my light
Reaching for the pull chain
For freedoms click
Will the click come?
Or will the memories my sanity won
Every waking moment frozen in time
Stuck in that room
Of fear and of gloom
In my own comfort and my own personal apprehension
I open my eyes
And attempt this elusive thing called living
Will it be red or green
Or the white a future unwritten
What will I find behind the door
My mind, my reason, my hope
Or will I wake and find that I’m 21 once more
And my own apprehension
I close my eyes
To attempt this elusive
Thing called sleep
My father
Thank you, forgive me
Sanctified, kingdom, heaven and earth
And before I know it there I am
In the hall of my memories
Tar black semi-gloss walls
The halls end too far for my tiered eyes to see
Illuminated by a single bulb of light
Swinging high above the black floors
Of red, green and white doors
With each swing creating shadows
Fearful, sad
Regretful but seldom glad
So many green doors
Green like the Grinch doors
The green of fear
Mistakes, anxieties, hideous truths
The green of a world
Where life is passively visited
A lived that never was
An existence that was but illusion
A spectator in another’s plan
Regretful green
The color that torments my days
And Haunts my every night
The red doors beautiful and far between
Doors of flowers, gardens, love
Laughter, faith, comfort
Reward and safety
Behind these doors is Me
Garden, soil, stem, thorn and rose
Untainted, unravaged
Clear minded, open hearted
Sun warming my face
Life flowing thru my veins
Me, whole soul and mind
Where I get as much as I give
Not that I would ever ask
But it’s nice to get a love
Almost as nice as it is to give a love
So I close my eyes, again
Praying for only sleep
Peaceful, beautiful black nothingness
Inevitably there I am
The hall of my life
My memories, my fears
Of unlived dreams and ever present nightmares
Sometimes I pass the doors slow
Touching each one
As a remembrance of what they hold
I touch one, feeling the twinge of the hurt
Another with a prick on the tips of my fingers
The hate is always an electric surge thru my hand
And the doors of fear
I feel their doom, the heaviness
It’s all consuming power
Like a vacuum sucking away my determination
My will pass thru my hand
to the monster that lives within
It’s not the slow reminiscent walks
That I fear so much
It the maddening
The spinning, dizzying, mad dash
On a broken conveyor belt
The vortex thru the hall of my memories
Where doors come to life
Becoming breathing living entities in themselves
Black and white picture shows of my past moments
Some I recall and some I don’t
All reaching out fighting to pull me in
Clawing at me pulling me in every direction
Like selfish little children
Despite the fact that I’ve given
All I have and now stand empty
They still want more of me
These nightmares of me
Want to be the death of me
I fight to find my way out of this torrent
of selfish memories
Trying to find my light
Reaching for the pull chain
For freedoms click
Will the click come?
Or will the memories my sanity won
Every waking moment frozen in time
Stuck in that room
Of fear and of gloom
In my own comfort and my own personal apprehension
I open my eyes
And attempt this elusive thing called living
Will it be red or green
Or the white a future unwritten
What will I find behind the door
My mind, my reason, my hope
Or will I wake and find that I’m 21 once more
For those with Mental Illness and for those who love someone with. The challenge is ever present, ever weighing but the gift lies in the understanding. The beauty of insanity is within the insane, in their dreams, their stories in their fears. Just take the time to see, ask and hear and yours will be the gift of knowing the beauty behind these doors.
- The art is my interpretation of moms ever wakeful dark nights. Her doors...
