Doorkeeper at the Turnstiles of Hope

By quantummysticist18

(for Kafka)

Passengers enter the chasm
Hoping to catch the train that only comes through the station
Once every thousand years.
Those who miss it are doomed to wait for so many lifetimes
At the turnstiles of hope.
They make conversation with the doorkeeper who surely holds their fate
Like a kerchief in one's jacket pocket.
Whether they are trying to access the Law of books
Or the Law of flowers and trees,
It is certain that the workings of the system
Will hold them at the threshold as long as is necessary.
I have traveled to the Cathedral for some kind of final reckoning
From a psychic-turned-priest preaching from a cramped pulpit,
A fitting resolution for a life without any context or definition
Like describing colors to a blind man.
All prayer has been strangled in transit
As it attempts with indefatigable determination
To make it up to Yah-weh.
My one and single resolution upon exit
Is the conviction that the Tetragrammaton
Must undergo nuclear fission every time a child is born.
The case did not go well.
Life is a metal cage with one's nails cut to the quick,
And this perpetual trial does its best to leech out blood
Till like an axe to the heart it twists twice in the breast
And vision evanesces and fails
As death extends a mute welcome.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2016 Christopher P. Gazeent
Published on Wednesday, March 16, 2016.     Filed under: "Philosophical" and "Poetry"
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