(After the image “Chickens!” by Marion Clarke)

Two doors by which to enter,
the path into myself splits
before it reaches the heart.
My lies strut, peck the packed dirt
clean of tell-tale infestations
and kernels that might root.
If you wish to penetrate
these drab walls, no clues
will help you choose.
Even the sparse flowers
adorning the entry ways
draw the eye away,
veil any pretense to significance.

Do you choose to knock
at chambers carefully coiffed
for visitors, made inviting
through portals of feigned vulnerability?

Or dare you choose the deep darkness
of rooms without windows
where one must bring their own light
to see what has been hidden?

©2018 Kenneth W. Arthur