A doornail in my door,
Devoid of the excitements of life
Is stuck;
Wondering, musing, awaiting
A purpose it needs to fulfill.

When my friends visit me,
They do spare a few words
About the singularity of the doornail.
And they often ask,
“What is that doornail there for?”

The doornail listens in silence
Like a pious saint
Who knows futility,
Lingering in perpetuity.

It stares at me,
So does that question
Seeking a comforting answer;
I stand stuck
Dead as the doornail.


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