Not brilliant at poetry; so have your say

I turned away
from the doors
that were held ajar,
blinded by fate
that was cloaked
in destiny.

I spun yarns
to unpick
in my mid-life crisis,
becoming marred
and tarnished,
like an old nickel
inside a misers pocket.

Through storms
to showers
to sun
and dryness

I am now Eden
then holocaust
two opposite fronts
of atmospherics

a meteorological
Molotov cocktail
of life.