The Doors

I am a fan of Poe. Short stories, poetry, whatever. I'm down with it.

My door-obsessed child recently reminded me of one of my favorite Poe poems: The Bells. I swear I have heard my own version of it in my head the last few weeks, as the door situation - once better - has progressed to the point of possible madness for both Jack and me. Here is my take on the poem, specifically the last stanza...

Hear the closing of the doors
Wooden Doors!
What a world of agitation their monotony compels!
Breaking the silence of my day,
How I quiver in dismay
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every slam that throbs
From the brass within their knobs
Is a groan.
And my boy - ah, the boy
He is my pride and joy
Flesh and bone,
And who, closing, closing, closing
In his room alone
Feels delight, I'm supposing
In MY throat, a groan
He is neither happy nor sad
He is neither good nor bad
He is obsessed
And his king is the door that crashes;
And he bashes, bashes, bashes
Bashes a cadence of the doors!
And his maniacal laughter pours
With the cadence of the doors!
And he dances, and he roars;
Keeping time, time time
In a sort of preschool rhyme,
To the cadence of the doors
Of the doors:
Keeping time, time, time
In a sort of preschool rhyme
To the bashing of the doors
Of the doors, doors, doors
To the crashing of the doors;
Keeping time, time, time
As he explores, explores, explores,
In a bizarre preschool rhyme,
To the thumping of the doors
Of the doors, doors doors:
To the pumping of the doors,
Of the doors, doors, doors, doors
Doors, doors, doors
To the slamming and the jamming of the doors.