The exercise:
Kat and I were supposed to pick up the key to our new place tonight. Hasn't worked out so well thus far.
Regardless, the prompt for today is: the key.
Mine:
The key is heavy in my hand -
I smile as though this was my plan.
But inside my thoughts spin madly
While my stomach behaves badly.
I did not ask for this duty,
To guide people so unruly;
But it has been decreed by birth,
So I must lead them back to Earth.
Getting the key is always the hardest part of moving; it's weird like that. I hope you get it soon! Does this mean that you'll be doing the big move on Saturday then?
ReplyDeleteThe poem's a lot more cheerful than I might have expected given the circumstances that gave you the starter. The second verse caught me by surprise too, leaving me wondering just what kind of key the narrator has.
The key
Made of steel, made of glass, made of stone,
Three disparate sources
For the key that I must own.
It opens up a single hidden room,
Atop a tower in a mansion
That is always steeped in gloom.
Made of sinew, made of blood, made of bone,
They fabricate a lock
Whose origin is unknown.
But I've searched in dusty books to find the key,
There's no time for fear,
Because we're getting free.
We did manage to get the key and we've moved a few things over already - mostly plants. The big move is Saturday morning.
ReplyDeleteYeah, me too. I'm guessing the key to a brand new spaceship!
I really like your second stanza. Creepy but good :)