Humblest of Poets

Across the horizon of my petty mind When all doors are closed this one door I find A simple door it is, a plank and a lock And the only key I have is the quietest of knocks It opens with a creek, and the dark dusty floor Tastes not a peck of light, but oh so much more. Now the first time this tired, broken  little boy, looked through the little keyhole Beyond lay the weirdest of nights, not a star, not a soul. But oh how much more black was the mess he was already in Alone he was with neither friend nor kin He stepped into this new realm, with wounds so sore Fed up of the life he loved no more His final hope before him, he took a step in Like a broken little fish, with a broken little fin I stepped in today as I was lost in time The eyes that beheld it then are no longer mine He saw a blank sheet of paper The epitome of emptiness I saw a new idea and my source of happiness Besides it he saw barely, it was dark, a thin stick of plastic, With a tiny ball nib and a bottle of ink And that thoughtful pen with the rubber grip band Took the pale hand of the crippled boy, and Helped him make a stand With a piece of mind in hand, I stand here now And In front of all who see I take a neat bow