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

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I tried a different style of writing this time.

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