Rise again.

What part could turn a key, for the misery is it me? ,

To define a lock and door to cry , would it be my soul, or eye,

Has my sadness a middle name, it's mirror cracked right through the frame,

And as it bleeds I too see red, the haunting locks,  and doors of lead. 

But forth through eye the needle pricks, and so it's opened up with sticks,

A kindles kind, like twig and veil, I caught my soul , before the sale, 

No boundaries kept to then obtain,  the rise and fall, and rise again.