The Door is Gone

They built it strong, once.
Stone by stone, rules carved in timber.
With doors shut firm at dusk,
A warm fireplace lit for those within.

Then came a whisper:
“To seal a door is selfish.”
So the bolts were removed,
One by one, in the name of good.

They came in trickles first.
Faces strange, tongues unfamiliar.
Some sweet, some sharp,
None asking permission.

They stayed much to themselves, really.
Hands open, eyes hard.
Not all, not most, but enough...
Enough to make the corners cold.

Still, the hosts smiled.
“Diversity is strength,” they said,
“And how boring would it now be
Without their music and their food?”

But some asked, “Should we not check
Who enters, what they bring?”
But the question was condemned.
Apparently, it offended the guests.

One morning, the ground was stained
Where children used to play.
No warning, no confession,
Just blood, and blankets, and bodies.

And still they said,
“We must be kinder.”

Now the house leans,
Its beams splintered by virtue.
The door is gone.
And so too is the fire.

“Immigration is the major issue everywhere, and even the countries where it isn't the number one issue, it ends up becoming one.”
– Douglas Murray