If the Door Fits

Sunday Muse # 92

If the door fits, hinge and hang it.

We must keep pasts where they belong.

Sea shells in desert. Gods on foot.

No.  Hide them before they corrupt.

Youth are susceptible to words

rumor, images and science—

In truth, I am, too.  If something

has dried to death, it must have lived.

Plato predicted we’d have to

hide poets, playwrights and thinkers—

at least their imaginations—

from all but philosopher kings.

And time has come to lock the doors,

walk in straight lines, stay on dry land.

And when youth challenge us, close ears,

close eyes, close hearts.  Eat sand for bread.

Think of Jesus as Pied Piper

leading our children astray.  Though

many of us have paid the price,

neither past nor future exist.

When the door of knowledge is locked,

we’ll be left among the guilty.

We’ll have silenced little chickens.

Still, we’ll be safe with our today.

My blog poems are rough drafts.
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  © 2020 Susan L. Chast