The Locksmith Rises from the Dead.
If you like The lock smith my Top Story you’ll love this.
The Locksmith Rises from the Dead
No stone to mark, no bell to chime,
he woke beneath the weight of grime,
keys still hooked across his chest,
as if no grave could grant him rest.
He stood, not with a hero’s grace,
but slow, like rust reclaiming space.
Each joint a hinge, each breath a spark,
the world above still cold and dark.
His hands remembered every door:
the bolted ones, the ones that swore
they’d never swing for man or ghost.
He’d cracked them all, or damned near most.
No message came, no call from light.
He rose for lock, not wrong or right.
He rose because the work’s not done,
and some doors fear what he’s become.
The locksmith walks, not seeking fame.
He doesn’t weep, he doesn’t name
the lives he let in or shut out.
He turns the key. He doesn’t doubt.
And somewhere down a hallway bare,
a knob will twitch, then gasp for air.
A handle turns without a touch,
he’s passed through, quiet, never much.
No peace awaits him, just the sound
of latches snapping underground.
His reason To come back?
To collect old debts once more,
and show the beasts he carries on,
much worse than he was before.
I love what you write. I follow the thread of what you are portraying and I can see it like a movie.
"and some doors fear what he’s become"
exquisite metaphor
PS: the image gets darker, doesn't it?
Thank you so much 💓