Key Piece

original_four-personalsied-jijsaw-shaped-keyrings (1)

(source)

a piece of the puzzle is missing

a piece of the puzzle is lost

a piece of the puzzle has gone awol

a piece we needed the most

the edge is missing its anchor

                                                   the border is shaky at best

                                                 and all the bits in the middle

                                                     feel insecure at this test

some hands have gone on a recce

fingering through lost and found

eyes are darting in panic

a madness is doing the rounds

all because one wedge is missing

missing, I said, not spare

essential, maybe gone for a burton

we’ve searched about everywhere

some guys claimed to have found it

and we tried but they had just lied

cut off the edges and filed them

no fit unless you’re cross-eyed

others brought in a new one

we sampled but there on the desk

lay the puzzle with one portion absent

 some folk, like me, couldn’t rest

neglected, we couldn’t abide it

what waste for the want of a piece

determined we hunted and foraged

unaccounted gave us no peace

puzzles they come in aplenty

perfectly carved from the first

boxed with the prettiest pictures

enigmas inside of a curse

for all of the boxes are missing

a fragment that fits and completes

but still we build, keep on trying

never admitting defeat

scores of them lying on tables

more of them housed on some shelf

 tatty are some, unused, faded

  jigsaws a lot like ourselves

waiting for hands that are loving

determine construction from bits

hoping and praying that this time

with effort, and luck, it all fits

                                                     if lost is seen mount a rescue

catch it and guard it for free

clip it and keep it for ransom

due reward for finding the key

Silver Key

In the corner of the room there’s a cupboard with a door

And the cupboard with a door has a key,

The key to the cupboard is hidden in a drawer

And the drawer is only visible to me.

The drawer is in a chest that resides within my flesh

And it opens inwards running on two rails,

The rails are my truth and my passions since my youth,

Timely constant with a gradual unveil.

The key within the drawer, the drawer on the rails,

The rails that let the drawer in me glide,

Is silver’d and small, but, perhaps, best of all

It lets a part of me exist and live inside.

On the days when the key is needed for its task

To open cupboard up so I can see,

The rails may object, preferring circumspect,

But I oil them, they slide forth, releasing key.

The cupboard in my room is related to the drawer,

Structured from the very same tree,

It shelters life in measure, guards well all my treasures,

Is my forest in the rains, my canopy.

In the corner of the room where the cupboard with the door,

The door that calls to drawer, release the key,

Is a woman, cupboard tall, though inside she’s still quite small,

A drawer-sized child who looks a lot like me.

The child inside our chest still prefers the nest,

Snuggled in the drawer with silver key

But the cupboard in the corner of the room that we call life

Insists we open up to set ourselves free.