The Trouble with Keys
I used to have a bunch of keys,
the kind that would clang with purposeful indifference.
A collection of colors: steel, bronze and copper.
Keeper of locks and old abandon slots: some would just clang.
And others just rang - with good intent.
Some keys were cold, tortured when told: out living purpose.
Their metal was scraped, worn out and raped - of meaning.
They hung with some sense of solidarity.
Both young and old, the newly acquired and sold…
Linked and speared by a once unbreakable circle.
Weighing too heavily of forgotten use,
those keys clanged most annoyingly with others.
Their sound would grate and irritate: at most peculiar times.
All locks don’t need keys…
And the circle broke, when someone spoke,
releasing them to the ground.
The collected contained, though fewer remained,
linked once again, for a new generation to carry…
Clanging the sounds of good will and purposeful intent.
Copyright January 2012 Gary Pilarchik
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