Exit Strategy

Doorway gleaming white, with a knob of brass,
Whither fly the paths that through thee pass?
Do they run through barley fields between the furrows
Or pave into yonder city's hurried boroughs?

You wait silent, but then some footsteps wake you --
Some traveler seeking a sure way through
To a world where stand waiting a thousand gateways more:
Small doors for cupboards, tall doors stretching from roof to floor.

Your kindred in the world at large have not
All as benign a purpose as you have got,
For doors of bars compel the pris'ners stay
And doors of wood invite men to their graves.

Yet I am glad, on the whole, for you hingéd portals
That, even imprisoning, or enclosing former mortals,
Remind us of what we must never cease to know:
That there are doors, because there's somewhere to go.