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Keys
Searching, looking, straining, finding,
For what I need to write;
I stare at blank white sheets
Willing the graphite to flow on it's own
Or maybe the keys
On the keyboard before me to type the words, poetic or inspirational words
But they just sit the silently mocking my inability to produce something through them
I sit and try to imagine, something, anything,
To write for the teacher, but nothing comes
My mind comes up with doors locks but no key
I search and try
I look everywhere in my mind
And there it is simple, old tarnished bronze,
A key on the floor
I pick it up hoping that there will suddenly be something
Nothing.
It just sits, cold and dull on my palm.
I frown and turn, there's the door with it's...
Large bronze lock.
I push the key in the lock
Turn it...
Click
It's opened, the inspiration is through the wood
I open the door in my mind, and my hands start flying,
Typing, writing, I can't stop
The words just flow like a rushing river
And I let them
Until it's done
