The back of the swinging door…

The rules of your honor matter little

when a heart is tattered

and lay torn upon the floor.

Surely this life would be less painful

if your rules were written

somewhere solid and not…

on the back of the swinging door.

Learning them one at a time

as the door hits your soul

when it closes on the heart…

so unfair in brutal finality.

The silence of closure

on yet another day

as a broken heart beats

with humility

playing without rules

and loving blindly.

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