The Gate

The Gate

At the end of the road there's a gate,
I see it every day
It's rusty lock is always shut
So none can pass this way.
The clasp is old and worn
Its etches now are smooth
Where once it opened all the time
Turned by some key inside.
The chain that's wrapped around
The copper colored bars
Makes certain that the gate
Is never opened wide.
Not wide enough for you
Not wide enough for me
Not wide enough for anything
To ever go inside.
I wondered why you'd have a gate
You never meant to use
Unless there's something valuable
That's on the other side?
As I turn and walk away
I hope whoever has the key
Can one day find a way ,
To let whatever's outside in
For even just one day.

01/26/18