House Of Eden, Forbidden Door


Walking through my House of Knowledge
I came upon a door.
The words that ran across the top
I had not read before.

“Because I love you,
you must not go
behind this door,
I beg you so.

This house I gave
For you to see,
but past this door
you can not be.

Please don’t wonder,
and don’t ask why,
for when you do
you’ll surely die.

A million rooms
I gave to thee,
with millions more
you have not seen.

All I ask
for you to do
is turn around,
because
I love you”

Before I turned,
from out the frame
leaped forth a creature
without a name.

It looked at me,
and smiled,
and said,

“Do you understand the words you’ve read?

The message is simple,
and plain to see,
behind this door
you can not be.

But why is this
yours not to do
if this great house
is all for you?

The Maker says
you can not go,
for there are things
you must not know.

As for me,
I live inside
with all the rest
It chose to hide.

Words you’ve not heard.
Sights you’ve not seen.
‘Sorrow’,
‘Hate’,
and ‘Grief’,
I know what they mean.

You’re made in Its image,
yet kept out of here.
Does this not seem strange?
For what can It fear?

Immortal are we,
the Maker and me.
If you want to be too,
you know what to do.

Just follow me in,
and I’ll show you ‘Sin’.”

I should have heeded
the words on the door,
and not the small creature
that fell to the floor.

I now spend my days
wondering why
in order to live,
I also must die.

I question that which
I knew to be true.
Stress free
I once was,
now doubt what I do.

Before I could break
a bone and not care,
but now I ask why
this life is not fair.

When I was in pain,
peace I still had,
but now when I’m pricked,
I start to get mad.

The lights in the house
seem to be less bright.
No longer they shine
on all Its delight.

To turn up Its brilliance!
If only I could
shed light in this darkness
that covers the good.

“There’s only one way
to turn things around”,
it said in a note
I’d recently found.

“Somewhere in this house
there stands a great door
that brings you right back
to days like before,

when you did not care
about dying and age,
or thinking your body
is more like a cage.

No more will you curse.
No longer you’ll scream,
or wake up at night
in tears from a dream.

All of the hate,
and all of the lies,
with all of the anguish
of woeful goodbyes,

will all be exposed,
no longer concealed,
for behind this great door,
the truth is revealed.”

So here I’ve been,
in search of this
door that leads me
back to bliss.

I’ll write you more
as I get near
the door that takes
away my fear

of dying young
or getting old,
and all the lies
that I’ve been told.

So pray my search
will not take long,
and ask the Maker
to keep me strong.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (3 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Icecuban Funk

Icecuban Funk

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
34, in NH, family of 3, wish I had a more fulfilling job.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

The Door In The Floor

The Door In The Floor long poem

Sometimes, I look for a door in the floor of my bedroom— even though there’s no such door—just because it’ll be such an awesome thing to have. Wouldn’t you want one? I’ll become the envy of all my (imaginary) friends.

Orb And The Forbidden City

Orb And The Forbidden City long poem

metaphysical impulse ensues through the flames of resistance shun its existence etched beneath the tapestry of loosened conclaves alone in desperation in the night heavy sounds of cosmic illumination in temples of fire reaching ever higher on point locked in

The Door

The Door prose poem

The Door// By: Fareed Ghanem **** (1) The door; outside there is everything; flags and noise, traffic policemen, temptation apples, toothy eyes, ears calculating breath-bangs, tinny moon counting steps, cheeks which flower with love, ready to pass to oblivion, flattering

White House

White House short poem

It was a rape of a city. Go ahead. I still speak the old phrases with back pain. And let fly the silence in beautiful emptiness of a swollen heart. On pain of anonymity I wanted to clear my name