The path of knowledge has petered out
into a thick pine wood ripe with scent and birdsong.
Its remainder does not lie undiscovered up ahead.
It simply goes no farther.
There’s no key to God’s door
on my considerable chain –
a weight I’ve accumulated for years.
There’s no lock on God’s door;
most likely there’s no door at all out this far.
What I should do now is toss these keys,
scatter the last of my bread crumbs
for the gathered, guileless birds
and await my Beloved under their trilling –
hand outstretched but no longer for begging,
merely waiting, do or die, for Him
to take my hand and lead me home.
O child of God, leave it – your salvation
has always been entirely up to Him.
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