Poem: Counting Keys

Counting Keys

I have spent my days sorting keys.
Trying each one,
sure somehow one would open vast treasures,
that one would open the doors that hold me,
that pretend to protect me.

I have spent my days sorting keys,
one after another, carefully inserted,
carefully turned,
fruitlessly. Foolishly.
Try one. Toss it. Try the next.
Seeking the secret,

There are no secrets.
God has wasted his time
telling us everything we need to know.
Remarkable simplicity.
Live gently. Love without rules.
Stupid simple. So simple, no one believes,
not even believers.

I spend my day sorting keys.

About this poem

The older I get, the more I realize that the key to what we really want in life is simpler than we make it.

Silly me.

Tom

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