You ask me,
I say “Nothing”,
That is the key,
I’m just rushing;

I think of the sea,
And of the sky,
I think of the bee,
That’s on the pie;

I think of the stars,
And how they move,
I think of the bars,
When I’m in the groove;

I think of nature,
And how it grows,
I think of the flavour,
Of something that’s gross;

“What’s on my mind?” You ask,
“Nothing” I say,
That’s just my mask,
It’s just a play;

I held a key once,
It was beautifully golden,
With diamonds encased in its body,
The mere sight caused thoughts I’d stole it.

I spent an eternity searching,
For the one lock it fits,
But after countless attempts,
--I began to question it.

Will I ever find my match?
Does one truly exist?
Have I been blindly mistaken?
And my mate is opposite of what I think it is?

If happiness is key
Then what of the door?
A room with no exit
Just walls and a floor

It unlocks many things
Let life give you wings

If life is a blessing
Then why do I hurt?
A life not worth living
It’s but an insult

Cherish all that you feel
With time all will heal

You question your own life
Ignore the given
Play the fool and the child
Even the deaf listen

If time is a constant
Then why’d nights stand still?
Air hangs without motion
Breathe breaths that don’t fill

You’ll find peace in the dark
Listen to your heart

If hearts do have rhythm
Then why’s there no beat?
With eyes frozen open
I am dead asleep

*You questioned your own life
Ignored the given
Played the fool and the child
Even the deaf listen

Key to your soul
hidden from all
heart is the lock
open the door

You were made perfect
(with all imperfections)
beauty is light
covered with skin

Shine, beauty, shine!
Don't hide,
destroy the walls inside
give out the key to your heart.

A Mind.
A Soul.
A Bowl.
A Key.
Syphilis.

She was always
Simply
           A
              Lock
                      Away; all they needed was the
Key.
Those who found it
Lost it soon enough too.
But those who fashioned it,
themselves
Without deterring from the task
Without trying to replicate a lost key
With nothing but a
egami euqinu
In their minds
Of what the lock looked like
And what the key should look like
Only those few,
Few, very few
Wizards
who toiled to work their magic
Succeeded.
And they never lost their key
They necklaced it around their heart
A symbol that was now etched into
their existence
Entangled in the life of the veins
That this heart so solely depended on
Becoming one with them

Those were the lucky ones

The others, the ones she wished mattered
Were still only searching
Searching
Meandering
Probing
Ferreting
Still only looking for
A key that had once been used
And whose lock was now
Rust rusting rusted
With time.

Still searching
But never creating, of course
Always only searching
Until they found it



        And then lost it again.

That sudden momet
         When you find the key
          To your writers block
         And poem after poem
          Floods in like a wave
          To your mind
          Begging you to write
          To share every
          Thought with the
          Strangers of the Internet
          As your fingers itch
          Trying to write
           Faster and faster
No matter how tired
Or how late
           You keps writing
           Because you need
           To get every idea
            On that plain white page
           Before the cursed writers block
            Seeps back into your brain.
I'm having one of those
Moments now.

Lock and key
I have such rotten luck
I try the wrong key
And the lock gets jammed

Lock and key
Was the first ever
Sarah Dessen
Book that I read

Lock and key
One acts as a protector
The other one
Plays the part of saviour

Lock and key
I'm not quite sure
Which is you
And which is me

The key to paradise:
What would be the benefit to you,
if not you yourself
are holding him in your hands?
But where, you ask yourself,
a thousand times,
can I find it?
Only in one place
you have not yet sought,
because it is closer than
your own breath
and any form.
If there you are searching for,
is your quest
truly a quest
and not just escape in disguise,
and every search has an end.


© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015