The old man and his key

He was past any conceivable prime.
Ensconced in his stuffy shack, which he never left, he lead the life of
a hermit; through grimed windows, he enjoyed the seasonal masquerades,
but without suffering the world's indiscretions.
He felt for his old trusted inveigler in his pockets and found nothing but flakes of rust.
The door shut forever, he contemplated death with a smile.




Comments

Thorum said…
Very moving. Captures a mood so deep.
5 July 2014 at 16:13
Goswinus said…
Thank you, Thorum, for the kind compliment. While I am usually a cheerful lad, I have seen so many instances of tragedy, death and woes that writing this stuff comes naturally... without pain or sorrow, though.
13 August 2014 at 13:03
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