The Question at the Door (poem)

The door was open,

But she wouldn't enter.

She paced in the hall,

As he paced in his mind.

There was one question,

The Question,

The shadow of Shakespeare,

To be or not to be.

Maybe it wasn't about love,

Or even about each other.

Maybe the darkness he painted

Was the same as hers:

Loneliness.

Yearning.

Frustration.

Depression.

Maybe their love was empty,

But it doesn't matter.

In the darkness,

It was a light.

Maybe enough little lights

Could illuminate the world,

Break down the walls,

And banish the Question.

-Zero