The door down the hall

The door down the hall is closed,

I don’t dare go inside;

I’m a little afraid to find out,

What that door has been put there to hide.

No one has told me I can’t come in,

Words I haven’t heard yet;

But the door down the hall is still closed,

Will my hesitation cause regret?

I would love to be asked to come in,

It’s not my decision;

My place is here, just outside the door,

Hoping, someday, for permission.

What great things must be happening there!

Inside that door, closed tight;

Brilliance and creativity, too,

Unfortunately, out of my sight.

You see, the door is a metaphor,

For the mind of my son;

Just as solid as the door, I think,

But a much more mysterious one.

I stare at the door from down the hall,

As I have in the past;

Unsure exactly how he’d respond,

Would he open his mind if I asked?