Lunar Key

A silver key sleeps on the moon’s far side,
opens invisible doors where shadow whispers secrets to the dark,
the cold becomes a breath that knows no horizons,
and time traces light steps upon silent rocks.
There, on the moon’s far side, the doors open with a sigh,
every key carves verses that the sea forgets,
there time becomes tissue paper, fragile as a dream in the wind,
the minutes crumble into dust of light.
You can cross those doors and hear the map of the stars,
where the echo of a beat becomes a window on infinity,
the key remains a breath that brushes your hand,
and upon return you find a time chosen, not stolen.