My Hand is on the Lock

 

Do I keep things out? Or in?

I cannot tell. I would not say.

Forged bars are where doors

would compose an opening.

 

I held the blacksmith’s hammer.

And tongs when I breathed fire.

Placed each bar in tedious fashion.

A wartime plan.

 

Do I lock the door against? Without?

I select. I would indulge.

A secret keepers combination.

A brave companion.

 

 

shelley rae bell

keep-out-wm-1

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