The Psychology of an Unlocked Door

As a thing which sits idly by, Reckons with fate, and elusively lies, Entering you find yourself trapped; But then, why would you go in? When you have been trespassed. The door is unlocked, and you are free. An unlikely mind, however, does not see, Keyhole is to peephole, finger is to eye, Which prods and scours others' territories and domains. They are not fooled so easily. Because if destinations were so easily acquired, Would we not go further, and walk less? Could we see the future, and know how it makes sense? All because this portal is closed, this hullen, oak frame With rustic hinges and a delapidated name. Now, if and when we pass a door, That we are not sure; Try your hand at this golden, knobbish gnarl, Even in this world, you won't get quite the snarl, Perchance, the door will unfold an outlandish moor.