But first, through the gate.
Knock and the door will be opened, but first you must get through the gate.
Ask and the words will be spoken, as long as you're prepared to wait.
Seek, and ye shall find, as long as you know what IT is.
Come, to the house of the master, but remember that inside is HIS.
What did HE expect to find?
Walking around with God in mind.
He looked for the word, but only found song.
Psaltery, Psalms, and then, a Gideon.
The only words in such a place that shone a light upon his face.
He sought the truth, and forsooth, the door was opened
Spiral stairway, to the roof.
In the rain beaten Lead on holy high, the crown that all the villagers spy.
He saw HER name, cut in deep.
Left for time, and God to keep.
His way confused, on tangle paths.
He paused, took stock, took a step back.
Deepness considered while he lingered.
His creased forehead unthinking fingered.
Lost his map, then his way.
Lost the words to his dismay.
Lost connections, out of touch.
Lost so little, yet so much.
Returning to his fathers house, in darkness creeping like a mouse.
He sought the book, the würd, the wierd.
The way of doing, he so long feared.
Arms upstretched, supplicated.
Sins laid bare, nothing hid.
Knowing all will be forgot, if he just turned back toward the flock.
Start again. Begin anew.
His life refreshed, his soul renewed.
He took the book, and ate his fill.
Then returned his boots to the ancient hills.