There Are Three Keys


Photo Stock from A Poet’s Haven



There Are Three Keys


“A key has been left you, in the will.” He handed me a silk scarf delicately folded.

Unwrapping the silky envelope, examining rust and tarnish, a singular clue, one key.

Perplexed about the lock, that it opened, t’was baffled, I contrived no confabulations,

Forgetting the inheritance, dismissing it, as gaff, went about my life, without any stash.

Disappointed that millions weren’t left to me, per se, continued life, as any other day,

A mail deliverer entered, “Special delivery, Mrs. Brown?” An envelope, was tightly bound.

Lifting out an old tattered leather book, with a weathered lock, secured and without a key.

A key in hand, an old tattered locked book, then, opened memoirs of elegant penned cursive.

I studied the pages, sitting in the dark, noticed a mystical treasure shining, in the light.

It meant nothing, sadly I discerned. Threw the book in a drawer, out of sight, out of mind.

Unknowingly, in that drawer is a book, that is a key, to the mysterious enigma, that is for me.

So reading that book, that held answers, opened my mind to avenues, of an intrepid future.

Examining the pages, holding under lights, studying the swerves, of gold leafed penned cursive.

Pondering in dreams, doors and windows, running halls, dangling keys, searching reasons.

Knew that understanding the paragraphs written in strange passages, unlocked mysteries.

T’was the key, that is needed, to interpret the essences, within the script of advancing.

So I studied, interpreted, pondered and wrought, seeking the answers with the scribbles.

Then slept, thinking, thinking, thinking of any riddle answers, for any elusive questions.

Finishing the masterful story, the book of illuminating majestic discoveries, saw nil.

And under my nose, seen by my eyes, ignored by my mind, were signs unexplored.

Three portents warned of failing to find, a key to interpret the hidden illumines signs.

And I, sat scratching my troubled head, wondering what was the key to the omens.

Frightened a little, should I not find, the keyhole, the lock and have nothing to turn.

The mysterious book compelling lyric tales, of finding golden nuggets, in my head.

And honestly, I couldn’t find the key, though it told me to look, in the mirror, at me.

Wanting gold, and silver, the mirror spoke, desiring precious treasures, is within.

There are creative pebbles, falling from heaven, surrounding men, every moment.

Reaching in faith is the final key, believing their yours, to do, as you please.

Realizing then, three keys came to me, by inheritance.

One key opens a legendary book.

The second key opens understanding,

And the third key is believing in self. The faith for having fortune.






Copyright © 2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

Thanking all lovely thoughts today

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