Sonnet 2


The key is sitting under the small clock.
It is not the key I am looking for.
The key I need unseals the heavy lock
That keeps shut that ancient massive door
Of the room that I left long, long ago.
I can’t remember what is behind it.
Whether bad, good or neutral I don’t know.
Yes, I am puzzled, yet I must submit
To whatever may pour forth
Into whoever it is I am now.
Without this ability of rebirth
I won’t be able to ride the Great Scow.
The key is sitting under the small clock
But it’s not the key to unseal that lock.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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