I had a key I hid
in my bed, under my pillow
it rested,
perhaps often floated into my dreams
and nested.

I knew the lock it opened
I had it chained to a bed
worn my years and time
crimson rust it shed.

I handed out the key
and watched it plunge,
and unlock,
into the air flew debris
of hopes and dreams it blocked
with sparkles of magic
that it no longer sealed
leaving behind an empty space
now only to heal.

Perhaps I should have hid my key,
Perhaps I should have unlocked it sooner,

in many ways, the path to glory,
is disguised in wanton fears.