At The Gate

Open the gate my hands hurt,

I’m on my shattered knees, swollen toes pointing backwards,

Let me in to quench my rusty thirst,

I can only whisper the pleas, please, spoken words no longer matter,

This must be some sort of ancient curse,

My skin is blackened and creased, I am a man only more battered,

Hear me for I’ve never been to church,

I’m unshaven, a body of fleas, my best moments were acted,

But still I remain of this universe,

The good and the bad are my galaxies, my truth in time and space scattered,

Open the gate I am of the Earth,

At one with the chaos of the trees and the beasts, the meaningless haphazard,

My heart has already burst,

There’s nothing left but hardened pieces, the sadness and madness practiced,

Open the gate I know I am not the first,

To run scared from their own peace, dreams left soaking in a swollen mattress,

Open the gate and take what’s left of this serf,

A humble servant, or slave at least, one who only mastered unwanted habits,

I have been stripped of everything and returned to the dirt,

Those left behind will be put at ease, and life will go on as it fashions…



4 responses to “At The Gate

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