THE FAIRY DOOR

THE FAIRY DOOR

A tiny red door

waits in the roots,

hidden deep

in the green quiet.

It looks harmless,

bright and small,

as if childhood

painted it gently.

But I feel eyes

behind the wood,

breathing softly

in the still air.

Leaves tremble

when I lean close,

as if warning me

not to knock.

The round window

glows faintly,

catching shadows

I cannot explain.

Something whispers

inside the bark,

a faint voice

calling my name.

I reach forward

with careful hands,

feeling the pull

of old magic.

Stories gather

around my feet,

ancient and thin

as drifting dust.

Every fairy door

hides a choice,

a quiet opening

to the unknown.

I sense footsteps

on the other side,

small and certain

in the dimness.

I hear breathing

close to the cracks,

soft as a secret

waiting to rise.

If I open it,

the world may shift,

and something wild

may step through.

So I stay still,

heart trembling,

because some doors

were made to tempt.

And in the quiet,

the red circle glows,

alive with dreams

and darker things.