Key

He held the key within his hand.

He smelt the iron ore

And secretions from the palms of those

Who'd held the key before.

The history of times gone by

In this refuge of the poor

Were paramount within his head

As the key unlocked the door.

And suddenly, he's bathed in light

And volume hits his ears

And from the shadows, with the key,

He's turned from all his fears.

For in this place behind the door

Are people good and true

Who seek what is behind the door;

A place of banished blues

Where all are welcome now to rest

And revel in themselves.

No status here, no membership

And all are treated well.

"Come in, my friend and shut the door!"

A jolly voice shouts out.

"Come over here and tell us

What your life's been all about!"

The warmth, the welcome, all contrive

To make him feel as one.

He turns to shut the heavy door

And sees the key has gone.

"But what about the key?" he says.

"I think that it's been lost."

He wonders if his clumsiness

Will be greeted with a cost.

High laughter does his question cause:

"The key? It's just been tossed!"

And sure enough the door's ajar:

Another soul who's lost.

"It's passed along to someone else,

Another one in need.

The key, it knows to place itself

Where he who needs can see't.

A key you found and picked it up

And followed where it led

And here you found the lock it fits

And the place to rest your head."

*

Written in response to Ellie Hoovs' Wonderland Challenge: