Poem – The door knob without a door

The door knob without a door

The depression sinks in
Days without purpose
The hands reach but end in fists
No entry means nothing
to the owner of the hand

It’s the knob that suffers
from the lack of responsibility,
and companionship

So he will lay hopeless
The truth is we live for the use and abuse
Without it we feel lonely and unwanted
It is only when we receive it that we appreciate the purity

But it is too late

-Howell
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