back doors

forest pathways belong to the realm of the moon
in between the ardent vines and the wild bloom
where the hasty fire ants discover their dance
sunshine falling from cloudy blue circumstance
we would live there forever you and I, my love,
if not for back doors who lead to musty towers,
old castles, torture chambers, modern rusty minds
I feel a thousand years of suffering creaking by
rattling inside our bones, memory calcified in stone
tombs they are for us, even we who are born to fly

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