This poem was originally published on 5 August 2015.

It is a quiet room,
Probably an empty room;
One can’t hear anything from within.
They have been knocking on the doors and walls,
And the key is missing.

They do not know who locked it,
Even the locksmith’s picks have failed,
Maybe some calm and the clock,
Will disrobe that which is veiled.

There is no log for when it was locked,
And the door had always been in sight,
Whatever shadows had come out to play,
Must have broken things at night.

Why is it such a quiet room?
There must be something in it.
They have been knocking on the doors and walls,
But nothing seems to split it.

It is a crazy room,
Perhaps a secluded room;
There is no sound from the outside.
Though there have been several shouts and bangs,
They always retired to die.

The door had always been shut,
There had been no reason to turn the handle,
This was normal. This was familiar,
Mantled to dismantle.

This was a patched up little haven,
A satellite of home.
They would not find its lock and key,
No matter how finely they tried to comb.

It is a crazy, lonely room,
And curiosity eyes the slit,
What would happen if it came about,
That the door was forced to split?

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