Poetry

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A rusted gate closes,
an entry to a time; long gone
creaking shut the shadows
that grace his memories dance -
moving, but never getting far,
removed by his insistence;
still, they haunt his moments now!

Rushing through the gaps
caused by his pain not healed,
he stumbles – reaching for the gate once more,
never comprehending
the gate causes further shadows,
as it only
stops the healing light.

Welded shut by desperation,
iron shaped by twisted thought;
lock the gate, when it’s too late
shame seeps through, stained with regret,
emotions raw and bleeding
left behind, beside the shed;
discarded-
as the pain just seems too great!

A man hung on a rugged piece of wood
bearing all our wounds and failures,
even those - beyond the rusted gate;
He wants to go there with you;
past the gate
with all His love and grace;
exploring all the damage,
dressing every wound with kindness,
bringing light to every shadow
as He guides him to full life…

One day he will lay resting
in a bed – beneath six feet of dirt,
resting amongst the fallen
in a cemetery, laced with lawn and pretty flowers,
behind a rusted gate.

Then, on a day when least expect it
when the final trumpet sounds,
Jesus will come in all His glory,
to take him on his last journey
from beyond the rusted gate,
to the golden gates of his true home!

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