My door

My door’s been broken down.
The rush of stuff is pouring in.
Although at first I feared its entrance
Now I’m feeling comfort. Sin?

My life I lived with guarded door,
For nothing else I knew.
But sudden storms of questions overwhelm
And every effort slips.

Flooded room, the water rises
Like the tide. I am hiding,
But I am finding, in the midst of drowning
I am not dieing.

My door’s been broken down.
The rush of stuff is pouring through.
Strange that For so long I guarded things
that now seem to renew.

- posted by Jacob B. @ 12:23 PM