The Key
When I was very young I found a key,
A brass key shining in the fallen leaves.
It seemed the kind of sign that one receives,
A hint of pattern hedging history.
But would it fit a lock to keep out thieves,
Or offer entrance to a lover's nest,
A store of wisdom, or a treasure chest?
Through expectation sometimes promise weaves:
I hoped a second sign would help attest
To this, and so I waited. Nothing came,
And each day of my life has been the same.
To shape one's life (too late I see) is best.
My emblem is a key without a lock.
© Kevin Berland, 1999
Return to Pandæmonium Club page.