Skeleton Key

When I met you, something clicked.
Like a skeleton key in an old lock, slow but sure.
Only it opened a door
to a room not ready to be lived in.
Dust of the past lay heavy in nooks that lay forgotten.
Cobwebs clung to keepsakes
kept locked away far too long.
Still, I let the light in.
I dusted the areas I was allowed to reach
and left a few flowers in my wake.
I wear that key, close to my heart,
in the hope that one day I may call it home.
I stop by to dust when I’m asked,
but one day I fear,
this key will become a key to nowhere.

@ Daydreamer

This post can be found at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads for Fireblossom Friday: Love

Writers Write…

At least that’s what they tell me. At least that is what I remember. Eccentric seamstress knitting together times and places. A magician creating reality from daydreams. It has been a while since I have bled. Years since my heart poured into a keyboard and I deemed it worth the pain.

     Pain… I used to joke that my poetry came from a dark place, that my best words were tears I thought no one would ever see. Now, I’m not so sure. I have happy moments. Have memories turned melodies and dried in ink, but do I deem them worth the smile, the laughter, the immortality of a paragraph?

Some may argue that happiness is fleeting. That it deserves remembrance. That it deserves to be savored and set in the stone of books that line shelves for future generations. But happiness has always been–at least for me–a battle. Beauty found in a dying Daffodil, love found in a headless Barbie, and a chorus line in a bad song. I must fight for every bit of happiness.

I guess it may be worth the pain after all. My best words come from dark places.

And here I am again, dark and bittersweet. Now, what will I write?