The Doors Poem by Nellie Isabelle Steward Cooper

Reality is nothing we can grasp
Has no certain shape

Nothing to entice
by being ever so nice

And there is no door
To pass through with ease
As you would please

No convenient expedient

Nor know you they are there
If you should care
From an outside view
To examine a few and see what is true

For there are no walls.. for the not real doors
No exotic floors - for these not real doors

So

The doers do,
and know nothing
The sayers say
what the doers do

As if only they knew
As they search for a clue

Asking what should we do?

But beyond this is
something more:

But there is no door - and always
The same dilemma,

Inconvenient...Vexing... Hexing... Perplexing..

MOST indubitably
to say the least - to grapple this insuperable beast

You cannot be certain
of a door for the doers

Is it all an illusion
of constant confusion?

Shall we conjure Vincent Price -
seek his advice
A list of supplies
to prevent our demise?

It is so horrific what we have done -
what we've become- made our own sun -

Just a flash away- maybe today -

Zombies do sleep late -
but will wake with a start
to have reality so abruptly

Depart