Room With No Doors Poem by David Self

I sit in a room with no doors,
Doing nothing, just still on the floor.
Above me, the clouds just pour,
Still searching for this door.

The room is dark,
No chance for a spark.
It closes in —
This life, a constant spin.

It never ends when you're down,
Trying to smile, but wear a frown.
I search for a light,
But it must be bright to win the fight.

The fight is gone; I've none in store,
Problems pile — there's always more.
Still, I look for this door,
To show there's something more.

More to life than endless doubt,
Than just kicking a can about.
It's hard when there's no way out,
When life just feels a roundabout.