An Open Door
I walk in starlight’s drizzle,
sprinkling softly on my head.
But within I wield a chisel,
wresting poetry instead.
Unhindered by the test of time,
my plan through acquisition to succeed.
But life has been an upward climb.
Enforced restraint was guaranteed.
Whether young or old a struggle—
angelic memories vanished.
Transcripts all amuddle—
my status polyannished.
Still I’ve found a myriad ways
that I might love myself.
Avoided chasing worldly praise—
good enough all by Itself.
Now there is a yearning
to terminate the search.
Content with all my learning—
None who would besmirch.
A multitude surrounds me.
Ahead effulgent glow.
Some are stolid, some agree—
to stay behind or go.
Would you have a liar,
or one who tells the truth?
One who can inspire,
or one inclined to sleuth?
As for me at journey’s end,
I’m searching for the open door.
And walking through I might transcend,
for just beyond, there’s more.
I walk in starlight’s drizzle,
sprinkling softly on my head.
I’ve tossed aside the chisel,
seeking higher realms instead.
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2018
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