Lock and Key

Timothy had always been a man of laughing joy and conversation -Friendship dialogue communication - But now there was silence but for a dissonant lonely muted voice In his baffled head that spun on rusty springs on a bed of corrosion The house was empty bar the vacant memory of distant courtship Shut out by his once beloved spouse he was shut in a prison of nowhere A fireplace that would not warm his heart only charcoal and ashes -Photograph above the mantel piece shattered- A few chairs with no communion to sit on covered in the tool shed Vacuum leaning against one of them with the plug disconnected A broom long disused resembling years of abuse and abandonment Wooden table of grief chafed and sanded to ground zero and pain Dried wax from dead candles and two nails crossed over the edge Light bulbs dangling from ancient beams of what was sheltering ceiling Bread and water untouched for what seemed like years more than days Wood worm gnawing away and not even rats to leave sunken feelings -Tim had lost plot manual and tool box- Even the fallout refused to carry on as sediment had covered all sentiment But when dusk arrived once again the dust heaped on unsettled remnants It dawned on him there is not light without darkness no shame in the night He sat and sat and uttered a vow in resting his hindsight on three pronged a fork -Stay put or live in the past or move backside and soul- Tim crawled out towards a path overgrown by black berries and glittering thistles Which covered up stone walls behind hedges as he ventured further and farther Tripped for lack of steady motion faltered and fell downside up into a trench Stinging nettles brought him to his feet and he clung for life and for good Among wild roses and blue bells onto rusty a handle bar and gripped a clanger -Finally a sound from squeaky steel ringing from spring- A half broken spoke just missed his eyes but also a saddle just crumbled Above a chain needing some oil a bit of tender loving care and a few turns He sat out to repair the vehicle yet had no more breath to inflate tired tyres -Maybe life called for different movement- Tim retrieved some metal just in case he needed it to puncture his Ego And the lock arrested by stagnant decades invaded by branches of loss Someone had told him ‘You have got a lot for you have yourself’ so he Took of his boots for good measure because tender moss called for him kindly -Ruins have meaning they tell for the future- In some way he became a saddler and a cobbler but barefoot agent of change Travelled the world a bit to a new horizon and continent to sunnier climes Among the wild fauna of Africa a princess shone a torch of beauty and calm She told him she had patiently waited for rescue passion living and loving -And gave him a key in exchange for a lock of his hair-