O Clavis | Malcolm Guite

Even in the darkness where I sit

And huddle in the midst of misery

I can remember freedom, but forget

That every lock must answer to a key,

That each dark clasp, sharp and intimate,

Must find a counter-clasp to meet its guard.

Particular, exact and intricate,

The clutch and catch that meshes with its ward.

I cried out for the key I threw away

That turned and over turned with certain touch

And with the lovely lifting of a latch

Opened my darkness to the light of day.

You’ve come again, come quickly, have set me free,

Cut to the quick to fit, the master key.