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A Paint Splattered Door
Behind a paint splattered door,
 There is a closet,
 Buried deep
 In this mind of mine.
 Filled to brimming,
 With images unused,
 Millions upon millions
 Bury my memories
 With imagination.
 Such as tombs of old,
 Where the dead rest.
 Imagine my closet,
 See the paint and brushes on the floor,
 Feel the half shaped clay on the table,
 Read the books scattered throughout.
 In this mind of mine
 Buried deep
 This is my closet
 Behind a paint splattered door.

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