Haunted by the cellar door
the most beautiful words to be spoken…
and I sit angry
After all you’ve taught us, forced us to understand
It’s “cellar door” you claim to hold the beauty of all English language
I have poured over poems and burnt my eyes in books
for the love of the beauty of the English language.
At your requirement, I have bent my mind around work
I would never lift myself because it contains the beauty of the English language.
I’ve read the struggles of authors to capture beauty in words
But here, all they had to say to is “cellar door”
The words laugh at me from the chalkboard, a blank declaration of superiority
to everything around it.
Have you seen one? A cellar door? Touched it, stepped inside?
And you tell me the door to the hole where I store potatoes
Hides all the beauty in the world?
I hope I burn your cellar door
I hope it bends and splits, that destruction would be beautiful.
I hope it melts and you never see another cellar door.
I want nothing to do with your cellar door.
But every time I see one, I won’t be able to think of anything else but this anymore.