Seeking Belonging

25^th Jul, 2015

As I stand in the centre of this circle
Cocooned by five various doors
Each a different colour, red to purple,
Some of them lovely some morose,
I think of the reason why I stand here…
Can’t think of one, should I fear?
Finding quirks and details while inspecting each
Realizing there’s light but no light switch.

What should I do? Where should I go?
Where should I look? What should I follow?

Multitude of questions – answers, not in sight.
I want a guide with a glowing light.
Turning ‘round and ‘round I grasp one thing,
No one is coming…

I look at the doors, ‘which handle appeals to my touch?’
Maybe this golden one, or copper? No, not so much.
Or should I choose by what they’re made of?
Wood? Iron? Steel? Hmmm, “no”, again I scoff.

The only thing left to pick of are these lovely colours.
Should I try purple? It has an air of marvels.
Then again, green is nice,
The colour of grass and leaves and spice,
Well, perhaps not green, how about pink?
Flirtatious, in sink, quick as a wink?
To be honest, I don’t like that one, too flashy, too bold,
Oh, but the blue one looks awfully cold.

Decisions, decisions,
But no one with whom to play rock – paper – scissors.

I open the purple one,
Step inside, but it’s no fun.
I don’t belong, not quite, no, no.
The first thing I hear is a loud gong.
My ears hurt, they protest, scold me,
So I turn around to escape, to be free.

Next – the green one, I take a deep breath,
Stepping inside I lose all my stealth.
I don’t belong, not even a bit.
Is it too much to ask to step in and just fit?

Pink I don’t even try, I don’t belong.
My intuition tells me it’s horribly wrong.
I give blue a chance,
I don’t belong – full of arrogance!

I stand in this circle, I don’t belong here!
I don’t belong there or there…
Do I belong anywhere?

Suddenly I realize there is still hope.
Oh please, please, don’t let this one be a “nope”.

Fearfully I touch the silver handle,
It’s cool, calming, will it hold the answer?
I look at the colour, deep dark red.
It’s my favourite after all, like Fate’s thread.

Will I belong once I step over the threshold?
Does it hold my mold?
I open the door, right foot then left.
Look, there’s a four leaf clover, and a painting brush, and a treble clef.
I walk an endless walk, don’t feel tired, but something’s amiss,
And then you come along and give me a kiss.