Holding the Door Open

Beneath the clutter, an old doorstop sits,

a chipped, sturdy shape, tangled in bits.

It holds back the memories that swirl in the air,

the laughter of children, the games we laid bare.

It shields from the chaos, a loyal old friend,

reminding me gently that some things won't end.

Like shadows of summers that clung to my skin,

this doorstop tells stories I keep tucked within.