Contemplating now

stood outside that door

the past inside that room

is a portal as much as a relic

a repository of regret,

Closing what went before

into a profound revelation

a silent stronghold

changing everything

around you,

a ghost story minus a haunting

guarding its memories

preserving the essence

of a generation,

stood on the threshold

in the shadows

a repository of sadness

shaking your hand on the doorknob

until you have to turn away

and you cannot look back.