Locks

You come around the corner
and there it is, the chain
slightly rusted, it’s heavy links still strong
and vigorous, guardians

of some secret hidden
behind walls and gates,
something precious perhaps,
or dangerous beyond words,

a dream captured long ago
and held prisoner, held for ransom,
leaving you to wonder
if what lies behind is friend or foe.

The lock is strong, blemished by scars
a thing of terrible efficiency,
determined to do its duty,
to remind those who are foolhardy

enough to believe in the treasure beyond
that others have tried and failed,
that the lock still stands
long after the suitors have left

shaking their heads in futility.
Some treasures, they say,
are easier to find than this
locked behind it’s stone walls

and iron chains.
But you are no knight,
more the fool than hero,
a cat like creature, full of curiosity

without the sense to see defeat
when it stares you in the eye,
not even
when it takes the form of an eternal lock, and so

you reach your fearful arms and climb,
ignoring the carefully constructed walls
and fearful chains, climbing
like some blind Romeo

to the top of the ancient wall, and over
unsure whether it holds
a beautiful damsel, a rotting corpse,
or a dragon, hungry to be fed.

About this poem. 

At times, I take a picture and later try to write a poem of it. I took this one outside an abandoned Army Reserve base in Memphis, TN. And this morning sat down to write to it.

Too often, we lock people outside our lives, preferring safety to intimacy. Our minds and hearts are skilled at keeping others at bay, afraid of our own vulnerability. But sometimes, someone dares to climb the walls despite our best defenses. They are the bravest souls in the world, because they don’t know what they will find on the other side, yet, they persist.

Thank goodness.

Tom