Keys to the Kingdom

Keys to the Kingdom,

Two bullets,

And an ankh.

My passports to safety,

Memories of darker times,

And relic of peoples long dead.

Fingers of brass,

Souls of copper,

And meaningless runes.

Bound by a ring of steel

And a soul of adamatium.

The boy cries for a gate to throw open,

A purpose to send him flying and guide him,

And people who will share his long dead religion.

He longs for someone to be bound to

By rings of iron, or gold.

So he goes, barely noticed;

barely noticing the gates he unlocks for others,

The demons he kills

And the God he shares.

Patrick W. Crocker ©