Poured Through the Keyhole

There is a door:
There is a world not yet grasped.
Not yet soaked through into the pores -
New blood. New peoples. Ancient cultures.

There is a door that must not open:
There is a sea in suspense.
A corrosive force that gnaws at memories -
Old customs. Old truths. Wholesome societies.

There is a door that calls:
There is a voice like the lips of the storyteller,
that unlocks the wonders of a childlike mind in awe -
Unknown possibilities. Unknown horrors. Unknown values.

There is a door:
It pushes against courage that stirs in the first steps of a child.
It rants against the discipline of choices born of freedoms.
It stands against the dawn of a generation unbound.
It is a door that cannot hold.