Key

If I can select many colors
and infuse my thoughts into paint
I would have drawn a script

If I can arrange many sounds
and imbue my feelings into voice
I would have sung a tale

If I can direct many movements
and instill my instincts into act
I would have carved a musical

But I cannot do those
so I wrote this letter instead
Otherwise there would be nothing

Late September I got a new key
which has been with me for nine odd years
It is a little rusty and not at all clean

A note beside the elevator told me
to throw the key away
I think I died a little inside reading that

This Autumn I met someone new
who I have not noticed before
The same dark eyes I can now see up close

A voice from the elevator prompted me
to use my new key
It is time for me to use the new key

What will be waiting for me
if the gate opens
I am excited and a little confused

If in there I find my paint
even if it is gray
If in there I find my voice
even if it is shrill
If in there I find my act
even if it is coarse

At least I will be able to play


( Afterthoughts... )