Locked

Can you bear to turn the key?

To that person that used to be heaven on earth,

That pattern in the infinite randomness,

To the warmth in the winter,

Why are the pieces still breaking?

Still crumbling and falling?

Remains left on the path behind us.

I can't bear to pick up the pieces,

To walk down the same old path,

Sun shining and trees intertwining above us,

All now locked by a gate.

It hurts to turn the key,

To release all that was once hidden,

To show the scars of the passing thorns.

Yet I keep looking,

Through the bars of the iron barrier,

Peaking for a glimpse of what once was,

I want it back.

I want to heal all my scars,

Pluck all my thorns,

Soothe the mind,

To travel a path almost forgotten,

One without a map,

Still in the right direction.

Please.

Oh, Please.

Will someone turn the lock for me?