Poem: A Key on the Wall

A Key on the Wall

You wander through the abandoned house.
In the kitchen, the walls have the slightest bit of mold
and three hooks.

On one of the hooks, a key.
Small. Rusted. Deeply rusted.
Of course, you wonder what it is too.

There are no doors left here.
No cupboards to protect.
No cellar.

The key is too small
for the rusted John Deere in the back.
Too large for a padlock, even if there was one.

What do you do with a key
without locks? What value does it have?
Why preserve it, hang it on the wall?

What does it open?
And has it been locked all these years
waiting for the mating call of the key?

About this poem

Sometimes, I feel like I have wisdoms that have no value. What do you do with that?

Yeah, a strange pondering kind of Sunday.

Tom

4 comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s