The Gate

I stand at the gate

Cold iron rusted shut.

I hear joy on the other side

Calling me

Freedom’s siren song beckons

To reach beyond the last standing

Monument between me and eternity.

Willing to face the solemnity of my truth,

My fingers grace over the forbidding bars.

A drop of blood runs down my finger

Frantic, urgent

I pay it no heed,

Let the sticky streams pool at my feet.

And when my time has come,

I kneel in peace and waiting.

But flickering still, my spirit clings,

And approaching from the other side--

He opens the gate.

I rise, ready to leave

But he stops me with a gentle hand.

“You are worth dying for.”

Then he goes forth

And I turn back.