open door

night time howls past the alleyway
and memories
of her
standing by an open door
blue eyes pink flesh taut against
the guitar strings
the wind

the alleyway becomes our heaven
backroom deals
a kiss passionate steams
hiked up sleeves
and then its finished

memories of her in that open door
blackened sweet
a touch
a drink
and then it was gone

Note: The Book of Proverbs warns us of those alleyways. Our eyes land, they fall and destruction is soon to follow.
I realize that poetry can show the dark corners where I used to live, but hopefully it can serve as a warning as well.
Those alleys, those streets lead to despair. Ask anyone on East Hastings what life is like. Most will say it is a life without hope.

I thank The Lord that I have been called out of the streets. If you are in a place that has no hope, call on Jesus.


3 thoughts on “open door”

  1. Hmmm… Considering that your poem brought back memories of a time that I left behind me (thank God), I have a hard time saying that I enjoyed it. It was incredibly well written, stirred emotions that had gone dormant yet gave me reason for gratitude again. Thanks.

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