A destiny narrowly averted.

Walking pondering.
Wandering wondering.
The address in his pocket
just a bunch of number,
or a dream of fame.

Standing in the doorway,
darkly ominous
Luminescent shadows
flare through the cracks.

He pauses before knocking,
To notice the raging heat inside.
Is his bright destiny
lit by hot hell-fire?

Turning Away,
And down the street,
He puts his hands in his pockets
his shoulders slump.

Guessing he was meant to walk and wonder...