Dawn's Flung Gate

This winding way is hurling me
To heaven through descent,
My hopeless heaven hopeful
That I might yet relent.

Observe how what is frail will quail
At the opening of doors that were torn
In closing, will pale and turn unhinged
At dawn's flung gate thrown wide, exposing—

But wait! Wait for the more and the less!
Teach us: for whom did our martyr
Consent and confess? Oh, Christ,
This is not more, but less!

This hurtling way is hurting me,
By fault and by success;
Brave men here are haunted by
What men afraid repressed.


rcs.
4th draft: 05/26/06
©1980 Ronald C. Southern

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