VIsion.

i don't quite dare yet

to curl my fingers around this slight weight

this golden key that rests in my palm

i never thought i would find it again

locked that door and threw it away

closing my eyes and letting the past

take care of its own

let the dead bury their dead

and i will continue you on my weary way

because sometimes only the dead may sleep

the living start too often

from worlds of fantasy that mirror too closely

their waking weary ways

i dare not claim this key 

any more than the pressure of its weight 

against my slender hand demands

in fear that it too will dissipate 

like all thosethings of the past

that i though i had left behind

but here i am

at the face of this golden door

with this key to match

and i'm reading a word i thought i had forgotten

one that i had packed away

to be found by some distant descendant 

and yet here it is for me again

in the center of this plaque 

that invites me to go

home.