Poem: A Thousand Doors

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A Thousand Doors

The child plays with each key,
holding it up like a psalter,
a holy thing,
a miracle in steel and brass,
sure it opens something,
unable to find the lock where the magic works.

too like us, holders of the lock,
falsely believing there is only one key
to one door, while a thousand doors wait,
ready to be opened
with the keys at hand.

About this poem

A fancy way of saying simply that happiness is all around us, but too often we have set in our minds that happiness has to come in one flavor.

Nothing in my last decade was planned. It’s all been pretty amazing. And not a key to be found.

Tom

3 comments

  1. Tom, I love the way you see the positive possibilities a child may find in a handful of keys. I have often thought about the adult responsibilities inherent in a key chain full of keys. I find one of the benefits of retirement is fewer keys in my pocket, along with a lighter load of responsibilities. I admire both the imaginative wonder of the child, and the contentment that comes with age, having opened and closed many doors.

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