THE LOCKSMITH

I’m not a locksmith, but

what if death wasn't laced with the dust

of long-forgotten dreams?

 

Why is it that death creeps around the corner

like a small sulking child with a bad temper?

Not sure if anybody knows.

 

I saw death a few weeks ago

when I opened a can of cat food.

It looked fine to me

but then it said I'd find the key to death

when I saw my next patient.

 

What a very auspicious occasion,

several keys were lying on the bed next to my patient,

but he was too weak to lift any of them,

so, I helped him lift the third key

and he was dead in five minutes

with a bright smile on his face.

 

I told his wife I wasn't a locksmith,

but she smiled and thanked me anyway.

 

Death, a sly trickster,

lurking in the mundane,

in the opening of a can,

in the lifting of a key.

 

It doesn’t come with a grand flourish,

just a whisper,

a suggestion,

a subtle nudge

in the quiet corners of our lives.

 

What if death was something different,

not a dark shadow,

not a lurking fear,

but a gentle transition,

a passage through a doorway

we all must eventually find.

 

The patient’s smile, serene,

as if he’d found some hidden truth,

something we all search for

in the chambers of our heart,

in the corners of our mind,

in the spaces between our thoughts.

 

His wife, her gratitude,

a strange comfort

in the face of finality,

in the acceptance of the inevitable,

the understanding that sometimes

we must help each other

find the keys

to our own release.

 

What if death was like that?

A moment of clarity,

a fleeting understanding

that there’s more beyond this life,

a step into the unknown,

guided by the keys we find

in our final hours,

in the simplest acts,

in the touch of a hand,

the opening of a door.

 

I saw death,

and it wasn’t a monster,

wasn’t a terror,

just a quiet presence,

a necessary end,

a new beginning,

waiting patiently

for its turn to be acknowledged,

to be understood,

to be accepted.

 

Death, a child with a bad temper,

sulking in the shadows,

waiting to be seen,

to be recognized,

to be given its due place

in the tapestry of our lives.

We fear it,

we run from it,

but in the end,

we all must face it,

lift the key,

open the door,

and walk through,

into whatever comes next.

 

And maybe,

just maybe,

we’ll find a smile waiting for us,

a sense of peace,

a moment of grace,

as we pass from this world

into the next,

leaving behind the dust of dreams,

the fears, the sorrows,

the keys we no longer need.

 

I’m not a locksmith,

just a wanderer,

a seeker,

a guide in the darkness,

helping others find their way,

lifting the keys,

opening the doors,

and hoping that, in the end,

we all find the smiles we’ve been searching for,

the peace we’ve been longing for,

the understanding that death,

like life,

is just another step,

another journey,

another part of the story

we all must tell.

 

(c) Richard Gordon Zyne