What pleases me is freedom –
the key given to each soul,
an invitation to willing captivity.
A tender soul,
making itself my captive,
as it walks into the cell,
locks the door behind it, eagerly,
and, reaching its arms through the iron bars,
throws the key far out of reach.
The little souls –
some are quite impulsive –
throw their keys with all their might.
They remind me of mother,
which isn’t surprising…
she taught me to throw when I was a child.
the great economist of the heart,
I learned that keys are made
to be thrown away.
Of course, she learned it from Father.
Father was the first to lock himself in,
to throw His key away…
with His back to the door
and a grin on His face,
He launched it over His shoulder.
He was so proud of mother
when she threw away her key.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
“That’s my girl.
Have you ever seen such an arm?” he asked me.
“Where did you get such a mother, anyway?”
This business of throwing keys away –
it wasn’t my idea, really,
though Father and Spirit like to say
that is all began with me.
It’s a conspiracy of praise on their part,
to which I willingly submit.
Father knew what He was doing
when He invented keys,
and when He sent me among men
to show them how to throw.
throwing away a key
is not such an obvious thing to do.
Having been a man,
I understand this.
Now there are many souls
throwing their keys with eager haste
and I throw with them.
Side by side
and throw away the keys.
From a collection of poems entitled Only Say The Word