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Keyless
We're born keyless
then given our first key to play with
we earn our first key of responsibility
to mobilize-to enter things
to cage things-to abuse things
like a warden with a cluster of keys
letting the good in- keeping the bad out
or is it the other way around
a steady stream of keys.
Like a bird-every key sings
only a few keep your secrets
eventually there is a chorus of keys
secrets chirp chirping merrily
Most of mine(secrets) are silver or gold
some are dirty some are clean
only one of them are king
but none of them are green
none of them are green.
We often lose them
a mad search commences
like a red eye druggie rooting for a quick fix
we smile and sigh when we find them
hugging them as if they were our children
Keys grow old become battered and bent
some wriggle off the ring
the years deepen we have fewer keys
keys are a lot like friends
what a relief it must be to be keyless again
Copyright ©
Anthony Biaanco
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