Song of the Lock

In the silence the lock breathes, cold and gleaming.
As the key glides through, time lengthens in a breath.
A metallic note ascends from the gloom, taut and precise,
and the door listens, opening softly like a promise.
The song stretches out, like a key that dreams of unlocking memory.
Each scratch recounts a past that shivers within the space.
Time runs onward, and the melody grows into a fragile bridge,
and the room embraces shadow, a silent confidante.
The key is a comet, time a river grazing the verge.
The note ascends and descends, mapping out teeth and wood.
The darkness answers with a chime of distant bells, a faint vow.
Each opening is a start, a stage where fear must subside.
When the final note dies down, the lock is quiet, yet it keeps watch.
It names no one entering, just inviting faith in the singing dark.
The key, weary yet trusting, rests beyond the threshold.
And we pass through, curious listeners, into the breathing room.