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by Alan Mahood

They hang on pegs
In the kitchen,
On hooks by the door,
And they're in a pile all together
Inside an old desk drawer.
Some open up boxes,
Some let you in,
One or two are so old
No one knows what they're for.

The keys of our lives
They hang on in rings
Exchanged like phone numbers
These are dangerous things.
Cause they aren't made of metal
Can't be re-made.
Happiness and friendship
Each has its' key
So do love and forgivness
To name just a few.

We traded some keys
Not long, no not long ago.
House keys and heart keys and
Love, so I thought.
But it seems
I was wrong for now
You recalled the key to
You heart,
Leaving me a
Cold lump of metal
And my own aching heart.



Posted on 02/08/2003
Copyright © 2021 Alan Mahood

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 11/09/06 at 07:47 PM

Enjoyed reading this. Nice write. Thanks.

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