There is a door seven years thick, seven times locked.
Its hinges are rusty, you’ll find no keyhole
not even a crack beneath this door.
I cannot tell you why it was closed,
why the cobwebs cover it all,
who sealed it shut, and why it’s so cold.
It weighs seven years and a ton more.
I cannot say how it would open;
with a push or a word, with a touch or a code,
or if it would ever open at all.
I cannot say what lies behind, an abyss to fall into
or a floor to crawl on.
The last time I was in was forever ago.
If you do open it, we will both go
behind this door, into unknown.
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