Saturday, January 19, 2008

The Golden Key

In a far away land of kings and queens,
of jester’s tricks and courtly scenes,
when people carried bows and swords
the lands were ruled by dukes and lords.

There were no cars or telephones,
no diamond saws for cutting stones.
‘Twas flints they used to sharpen knives;
‘twas knives they used for ending lives.

No Haagan Daaz or Oreos,
no Lucky Charms or Cheerios.
No Cherry Coke or Mountain Dew;
just water, wine and veggie stew.

They lived content but shorter lives,
and rarely men outlived their wives.
To no surprise, death hindered birth
when war erupted on the Earth.

Then darkness fell across the land,
the hourglasses lost their sand.
“The sun set down one night,” they say,
“and did not rise the following day.”

The sun decided late one night
that men weren’t worthy of it’s light.
‘Twas locked behind a hidden door
when men were selfish, fighting war.

Diseases brought abundant tears,
some famines lasted fifty years.
The people lost all will to live
‘cause no one had strength left to give.

Until…

Late one night, like a singing bird,
a little child’s voice was heard.
“I know the answer!” was his call.
“I’ll bring light back to one and all!”

“The sun is locked away, you see,
confined, and feeling quite lonely!
I’ll seek him out and set him free
once I have found the Golden Key!”

“Hooray!” the people screamed with joy.
“Our hearts are with this young, brave boy!”
With food in his bag and a sword on his hip,
the boy set out on a foolish trip.

He searched among the white corn stalks
and looked beneath the river rocks.
He searched each house in all the land
and dug holes in the ocean sand.

He panned the lakes and climbed the trees,
he walked the woods and sailed the seas.
He searched, regardless of his fears,
which grew as months turned into years.

He looked above and underground,
but that Golden Key he never found,
until, at last, his thoughts consoled
the fear that he’d finally grown too old.

His bag he packed, his sword threw down,
the time had come to return to town.
His home was not a familiar sight:
his friends had long since taken flight!

He bought an old cabin and lived out his years
writing his story and crying his tears.
He’d spent his whole life in pursuit of that key,
and never quite realized it’s proximity!

The key had become to this man like the Grail,
and a legend was formed from his sorrowful tale.
He’d searched for the key just to bolster his pride,
while the answer was actually deep down inside.

The very last lines of his diary read,
“I’ve lived a full life, now it’s time to be dead.
We must all know the question is not ‘Where’s the key?’
The question is ‘Who?’ The answer is—“

3 comments:

Jean said...

I expect know the final word!

very nice work and deserved to be heard!

Janet said...

That was so Wonderful! You sure have Talent!!!

Cynthia Thornton said...

Is it 'he'?! Just kidding. i liked that story.