There Is A Door

There is a door.

I open it a crack
and glass is flying.
The shattered pieces
but my face
as they fly by.
Peaking in,
I see myself
as I once was,
huddled alone, broken,
on the floor.

This door is the past.

Sometimes events of today
bring me back
to the time when glass was flying;
a cyclone around my
beating heart.
I hate remembering.
But it is a part of
who
I
am.

I reach for the door again.

More prepared this time,
I duck
as shards shoot past.
I stare at the pitiful figure,
silent tears
dripping from her chin.
I take a deep breath
and I feel...
nothing.
Former pain will not be mine again.

I close the door quietly.

Turning,
I face today.
The white scars from the flying glass
are my legacy:
I can overcome - I've faced worse.
The door stands at my back;
I still feel its presence.
Around me, the air crackles
with electricity.
This, I can handle.

There is a door.