“The Golden Door” by Mike U.

“The Golden Door”
(c) 2017 by Michael L. Utley

The golden door is caked with blood
A patinated crimson tracery
Its gilded crest a filigree
Of ruined hope

There is a sense of something there
Beyond this barrier intransigent
A light a balm a restful place
But not for me

What lies beyond is out of reach
No matter how I pound my broken fists
Upon that door immutable
I can’t get in

My voice grown hoarse, I cannot call
Aloud, my screams which echoed through the years
Are silenced now, a whispered wheeze
Is all that’s left

The gulf that separates two shores
Impassable, impossible; a leap
Too great for wretched mortal minds
And riven souls

What have I ever done to earn
The wrath of all creation? Even stars
That light the velvet void grow dim
Regarding me

With pale scornful eyes, the moon
A frigid face inscrutable, its gaze
A blazing condemnation of
My life’s disgrace

And still I stand at golden door
With bleeding hands balled into angry fists
And pound away as stinging tears
Burn blinded eyes

In futile faith that things will change
Before I can no longer will myself
To fight this fruitless battle and
Abandon hope

That something better lies beyond
The golden door

17 comentarios sobre ““The Golden Door” by Mike U.”

      1. «In futile faith that things will change
        Before I can no longer will myself
        To fight this fruitless battle and
        Abandon hope

        That something better lies beyond
        The golden door»

        Beautiful poem. 👏 Hope and faith are the last things to lose…good luck Mike…😊🌷

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  5. A man at the end of his rope. A man who feels all his faith has been misplaced. A man who has nought to turn to but self is a broken man. I have been this man. Kicking against the rocks of life, scream till I have lost my voice.
    I rock with this poem big bro. Ain’t never had the words to express this feeling, but you have said it perfectly. 🙏🥺
    Bless you Mikey. 🙏

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    1. Thanks, Nigel. I’m truly sorry to know you’ve felt this way, too. It’s rough to be desperate for any crumb of hope and not be able to find even that much. The phrase «dark night of the soul» comes to mind when I think of this poem–an existential agony that never seems to abate, no matter how hard we bang our fists against the golden door…knowing things have got to be better sometime, somewhere, but we’re still locked out. Ultimate frustration. I think most of us go through something like this at some point, and not all of us make it through. 

      I appreciate your support, my friend. I know you can identify on a personal level with much of my poetry, and that kinship contains a kernel of hope, knowing we’re not alone in this big old world. Thanks for your kindness, amigo, and for understanding me and my dark poetry. 😊

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      1. You’re welcome bro bro.
        I agree that not all will make it through the dark night of the soul. Hopefully, if I fail to make it out, it won’t be because I gave up. As long as there is breath, we fight on. 🙏💪💪

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    1. Many thanks, Resa. There’s some poetic license and lots of metaphor here, of course, but I truly do feel the hopelessness and despair regarding my life and the world in general. Medical issues, financial problems, rancid American politics, world events…and I feel powerless to do anything to enact positive change. Being deaf and dealing with major depression/PTSD and isolation certainly doesn’t help much. This poem is a cry into the darkness, you could say, knowing full well all I’ll hear back is silence. It’s pretty grim. 

      Thanks for your kind words, my friend. I appreciate your support and your thoughtful comment. 😊

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    1. Thanks, Lauren. A lot of frustration in this one, for sure, and I’m thinking a lot of people probably feel the same way. The human condition can really test one’s resolve, and not everyone is up to the task of persevering through all adversity. The question arises: is it futile to keep trying, or is it cowardly to give up? I haven’t found the answer yet. I keep trying anyway. (Perhaps there’s a huge cache of A&W root beer behind the golden door!) 😆

      Anyway, thanks for your kindness as always. Writing helps me deal with these existential questions, even if it doesn’t answer them. At least it keeps me going. 😊

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