The Doors

I saw the doors of that temple open. God seemed to be beaming at me and inviting me in with arms wide open. But, the doors of my mind which led to faith, in God and temples, had closed forever; the day they threw us out of our own home. To build those same doors of the temple, which were open. I couldn't help but think that this temple stood on the grave of my home, of my memories. Yes. For me, it was a cemetery. Those walls that had witnessed my memories of growing up in that home, the happy times our family had , the grief and sadness we had been through together had been brought down. With that ,had crashingly come down my faith and my love for God. They tore our home apart brick by brick. But in doing so, they tore me and my memories connected with those each brick. Because each of them had their own story to tell about me. I had grown up with them. Now, I had witnessed their death.