Is it a door that closes yet remains unlocked,
or a door we leave behind – a quiet sending off?
Is it a door that closes to hide the unknown,
or a door we close that the unknown is won?
Is it a window that closes against the darkness,
or a window we close that we may own the light?
Is it a window that closes and darkens the rest,
or a window we close that darkness may rest?
Is it closed by hands – one timid, the other obstinate,
against the past’s strength that has since failed?
Is it closed by the hand whose future has come,
against the other’s present, without end?
Is it the dead-end of a road – then, nothingness,
or the emptiness lurking at the next bend?
Is it about a bridge burned after a brief passage,
or the end of a passage over an unseen bridge?
Is it a silent denial of the peaceful depth of night,
or a doorway into dawn drowning its own peace?
Is it a choice over a dream after a sudden awakening,
or an awakening of the will – of being-unto-death?
Is it the soul’s solemn attempt on the level of pure thoughts,
or of pure thought’s attempt to understand the soul?
Is it the coming of inspiration when it is no longer sought,
or the seeking of inspiration for which one has fought?