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.