Keeper of the Keys

#Poetry #poem KEEPER OF KEYS Crow clothed, I would not battle any more But dropped my hands to wander in the grey Where is the land my kind can make a home? Where is the music that can sing of me?

If I should hear a knocking at the door as of a spirit from the old country bound homeward from this nonsense of a life demanding that I let them loose to fly

Tonight I would turn key and let them in, past coffins, gates and buildings that they loved And warn them not to tarry here too long But know this is the kingdom of the dead

And though the feast is warm, all here are ghosts mere hungry bones, a thousand years and more Then it will be my time to fly, released From knowledge and the closing of the door.

3/12/2015