in a brown adobe wall.

The door was always there.
The wall grew up around it.

We all want to see
what's behind the door.

So does the wall.
It doesn't know either.

nuff said.

the title drew me in, and the poem satisfied.

nice poem.

tiko

This is sharp and in focus. 

I'm not certain on this first read if the final line is needed.  I think I'm there without it.  But then, tomorrow's another read, another slant, another crack to see meaning . ...

ld

I like this too. I left the poem with a feeling of curiosity then felt I had to come back.
Much enjoyed.
JC

Lavonne, Tiko, JC,

Thanks.

Lynn,

Let's try it without the final line and see.

Better without that last line, to me, Rick. It allows for the possibility that the wall grew up around the door to see what was behind it, and that it can or will or might. Saying definitively that it can't just doesn't gives a narrower reading that doesn't make sense to me, so then I go to reread the poem in a more zen-contradiction state of mind -- but there's enough magic in the poem already, I don't want to screw around with it so much at the end. Tom

Rick, love the idea of a blue door.  Really like this poem.  Beautiful and mysterious image.  Here are two:

Lovely pics, Cheryl!  Thanks!

Enjoying this again.

Thanks, Lavonne and SL!

Rick

Today, when I read this, that blue door is the blue sky showing through a door opening in a wall that's forgotten who built it. 

ld

I like your explication, Lynn.  Of course the wall might never know why it was built.  Most people don't confide their plans in walls (lampposts are another story).

Nor do most walls confide their plans in people, whereas lampposts are given to lighting up every detail.