Thursday 11 August 2005
‘it’s not been used in a long time,
look at the rust.’
Maybe I can get it open
Looking at the other set of eyes hurt.
‘you can try. I’ll not stop you.
But I might wince away for a time.’
That’s okay, it’s not going to stop me.
Finding out what’s on the other side
Is definitely worth it.
‘even if it’s ugly and painful?’
what if it’s not? What if it’s beautiful
and you never knew it?
What if it’s something so precious
You’ll be stunned?
‘what if it’s not?’
I’m willing to try.
It was a rusty lock and looked old and worn.
Maybe it didn’t want to be
holding the door shut,
Maybe the lock was just there because
someone, long ago,
Had put it there.
There were some odd scrapes on it,
like at one time
An attempt had been made to get rid of it.
But either it was unsuccessful,
or whoever was trying
Had changed their mind.
It had some appeal, that lock did.
The colour had melded
with the elements to produce
Something akin to autumn leaves.
It needed to belong to an ancient garden
In some far off, hidden, place.
Yet here it was, for all to see.
That worn, old lock and chain.
Holding what together?