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At the Gate


I am standing at the opened gate,

Sensing the air -

As ancient as the earth itself.

I feel as though my face reflects

from every curving surface,

So that I stare into a thousand of my own eyes;

Each of them is asking:

“Who are you? And what do you bring?”

Dare I pass beneath the keystone?

The holiness within it

Breathes to me;

But am I sensitive enough to feel it?

Humble enough to be its guest?

Loving enough to justify my presence?


Am I here to impose, or to offer?

To take, or to receive?

If to offer, what do I have?

If to receive, then am I ready to surrender?

Do I really deserve to have come this far?

And do I really deserve to continue?





Photo by Wendel Moretti, Pexels

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