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The Lock
There is a door that lives in secret.
One that can't be seen, nor be heard.
One that stares at darkness without depair.
With a golden knob, rusted and cold,
Neither young, and neither old.
People pass, and people glance,
Unaware of the heart that stares:
Into darkness, and fear.
Many days that turn into years,
It recollects a memory that takes his fear:
There were two eyes, deep and brown.
There was a hand, soft and small.
There was a smile, perfectly there.
And there was a key.
A key that only she can hold.
Unlocking the darkness within this dying door.
She smiled, and then:
There was warmth.
There was light.
- Alejandro Bonfil
