Keyhole To Heaven

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I stand on childhood’s

tiptoes and the oxygen

in my lungs is stillborn

in its stall as I peer through

.

the keyhole to heaven;

all is angels’ wings

and perfume and

brightness and I squirm

.

to reach just a sliver higher.

I strain with broken grip

and limping spirit and

if I shift too much the

.

vision fades and the scent

eludes, wisp snatched by

wayward breeze. So I

peer through the keyhole

.

and feel the brush of angels

in flight and linger to

catch the smell of home

before I lower myself

.

to my side of the door,

waiting, ever waiting

for someone to turn

the key.

.

Iron Maiden

Through the Iron Maiden’s bars

I spy a fairyland, a place

where peace grows, seeded row by row

with roots of safety, soil of grace.

But Iron Maiden bids me stay,

she bars the path to enter in;

whispers how I don’t belong,

hints at defect deep within

so here I stop, with longing gaze,

aching for the scene I spy,

wanting Eden’s leafy rest,

believing Iron Maiden’s lie.