The Door to my wild self


I found some magic in a book
The door to my wild self, is within my reach
I found the key inside a jar
All rusty and old
Weathered as iron upon a beach

The lock was hidden, inside an old oak tree
Covered in Ivy, knurled by time, so very old
It fitted well, but wouldn’t turn
I tried each day and night
Till exhausted and my fingers cold.

Each day I took a turn, my intention was true
Each day I failed.
I cried, and to myself I did scold
I made a wish, I said a prayer
I begged, please let me through.

I stood and said, I must seek my path and be bold
And so it turned
Slowly at first
Creaking with the resentment of age
A crack of light appeared and I walked through that door
To discover my wild self of old.