Door of Gold

by Indestruction

A small poem composed my a friend of mine, and in my mind I can imagine it as a representation of Harry

The lions-head knocker is poised on a door

Of gold on a house of silver,

Facing a lawn with a fountain of marble and a white picket fence

The lions-head knocker can hear the drunken

Cries of the man inside who drowns

Pride and dignity in a bottle of expensive whiskey behind closed doors.

The lions-head knocker watches as civilians pass by,

Taking in the false facade

That hides the despair and self-abuse in the pit of the house

The lions-head knocker doesn't let anyone in the house

To see the man inside

Whose fingers are covered with charcoal, scrambling between boulders, looking for a hold.

The lions-head knocker watches the man inside turn to pieces

Ripped at the seams of humanity,

and it can't help, can't move from the door of gold.