Green Door
Not a wall. A door at most.
Barely more than lath and post.
Peep hole worn by questing fingers––
a lost soul whose presence lingers.
What has this fortress kept inside?
What prisoner trapped? What captive died?
We have no idea––none at all
of what was kept behind this wall.
As paint peels off and dust invades,
the story ages, wanes and fades.
The story too grim to express?
They leave it up to us to guess.
For Friday Fictioneer45: 77 words
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
A great take on the photo. It looks like it’s hiding secrets.
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I think, so, too. Sinister secrets. And I imagined finger reaching through and wearing that paint off.
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You have great imagination. 👌
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I wondered what was behind that Green Door all through the 1950s. You just yanked my chain. Here I go again!
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There was a strip club named The Green Door in Cheyenne Wyoming in the seventies. I think that was a different green door from either of the others.
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I missed that green door, do recall a tavern that had live country music every night, don’t recall the name though. Don’t recall much of anything for that matter.
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It was on Lincoln Way, a few blocks west of the train station and railway overpass
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