Adeeyoyo's Blog

I write what I feel…

The Secret Door



Hidden by bristly brambles

The thorny creeper rambles,

Its pointed fingers wind,

Meshing as tight as twine

Concealing, screening

My wounded feelings,

Safe and secure

Behind the secret door.


The hinges and lock

Were rusted with age

With no way to open

The make-shift cage.

And so I lived for twenty odd years

While my heart was healed

And I could reclaim

What was mine again.


©DGA 30 April 2012 08:32

Author: adeeyoyo

I am a middle-aged South African woman, living in Johannesburg. I began writing poetry towards the end of May 2010. I love animals – sometimes more than people! I am back after a break. Thanks for still being here, if you are! Missed you! xxx

28 thoughts on “The Secret Door

  1. Perhaps healing would have come quicker outside this cocoon. Then perhaps not but still seems a prison.


  2. Aaaah, freedom at last. Blessings, Maxi


  3. Twenty years is an awfully long time, adee. So glad your heart is healed at last.


  4. You know Denise, I liken being wounded as like a hedgehog curled up, spines outward. A very expressive poem my friend. thank you


  5. I especially liked the first four lines, they drew me in to the “heart” of the matter. Great on all accounts.


  6. Your poem tells of such hardship, pain and freedom with just a few words – love it.
    *big hugs*


  7. I like protected and safe, myself: and the idea that one can reclaim oneself after a hurt one never thought would go away.


  8. It is so good to know that even when one is in a cage and it seems dark that you can get back to yourself. So many of us find ourselves in cages in various guises. A very powerful poem!


  9. It can take a long time to heal the layers. Glad to know you’ve reached through.


  10. This may just be the poem of yours I’ve liked most up to now. Perfectly crafted. You can be very proud, I think.


  11. You need strength when you are down. When there is no prop coming, you have to clutch to the brambles, wary of the thorns, on your own caressing your own wounds. very inspiring.


  12. We are both the jailer . . . and the jailed. Until we wake up and break free.


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