My Heart

The scars upon my heart run deep

some are old, and some quite fresh.

At times it feel there's no room

to ever hold any more.

Salmon swim against the current,

but we only get to float onward

with time pushing the rapids

forward, forward, forward.

But we never get to go back,

each moment a door closed behind you!

As we swiftly glide along the timestream;

the slamming of ten thousand doors.