Dusty doors

I am standing in front of a wooden door

with a bunch of keys. What are they for?

Dust all over the wood, all over the floor.

Is there the thing I am looking for

behind that door, waiting for ages?

Maybe it is an ancient book with burned pages.

Maybe it is a dream that came true long ago.

I cannot see anything through the keyhole.

But the door is opened! Why I didn’t see that before?

Now my mind is scared even more.

I throw the heavy keys.

I seek the truth that no one sees!

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