The Door

There is a door, some say. One that leads out into the empty plateau of the all. This door makes no promises, It cannot tell you where you will be, For it is only a door. It can only open the way To wherever it is that it opens onto on the plateau. And this door can break no promises Except those which are made by those who believe the door can be broken. For the door is eternal As our hearts are etherial And as they Beat a rhythm out of sync out of time and outside of time So does the door travel, slide in and out of existence through time The door is the gateway of the universe, Containing the galaxies within the macroverse Beneath which we exist. And this universe has no obligations toward us. Or our promises. For it simply IS, just as we simply ARE. Whatever feelings we harbor are not mutual And so the Macroverse Slithers around the door Moving wherever it pleases. Taking it away When it is suitable to do so.