come. i see you. hey —
you, with your face lit blue,
thumb climbing a ladder that goes nowhere.
no one's watching; they're all bowed
to their own bright locks,
mistaking the glow for a door.
come with me. listen —
i lift the keys; they swing and clink,
and catch what little light there is.
i keep keys.
this one's to your mind — it's been waiting;
the room is still yours, go in.
this heavier one is freedom;
it only turns from the inside.
this bright small one is love —
it fits more doors than you'd dare to try.
this cold one: don't be afraid to grieve —
some rooms you have to enter before you can leave.
take them. or don't.
i'm not selling anything —
a key isn't bought, it's handed,
and then it's yours to lose.
these four are the keys that i would bear,
but look — the ring has room to spare,
for every key you'll cut and claim,
each door i never knew to name.
no hurry. i'm here. i keep the crossroads —
i've stood at this turning longer than the roads have had names,
watching the bowed ones hurry past,
the voice in their pocket saying, take the first exit on the right.
set the glass down. it's not a key, it's not a map —
it's the commentary, not the game.
you know the way.
come. or stay.
the keys are real either way.
and so, it turns out, are you.