The Other Side

The heavy oak door, left ajar,

a sliver of dark, inviting in.

A quiet place, so near, so far,

to wash away a nameless sin.

I paused, just stood there on the street,

the scent of wax and ancient wood.

A sudden urge, a strange, sweet heat,

to whisper things misunderstood.

To tell the void, the unseen ear,

the messy thoughts, the tangled dread.

To leave them there, a fading tear,

and walk away, unburdened, fed.