The Broken Door

It wears off,
And it gets old.
It could rust,
And it could mold.
But nothing ever changes,
Nothing really does.
It could change on the outside,
But it's still the same within.
This door,
So old and weak,
Lies here with sorrow.
All it wants is to be young again.
To be beautiful and free.
But as I look at the door,
I realize the beauty,
That is held so deep inside,
The secrets it holds,
And the memories that died.
I will take out the anger,
And heal the scars.
That pain conflicted upon it,
Will soon vanish.
Everything will be young again.
Even with the paint wearing off,
And the handle broken.
No one will ever know or see,
What lies beyond the door.
No one will ever know or see,
The secrets... of eternity