I’m in the middle of the end and waiting
Trying to do the good I see in front of me each day,
Occupying yet fighting preoccupation.
There is one door at the end
One door held open for you by My unmovable hand.
Yet the only sign I can read over the door is exit
Or is it entrance?
Time ticks away unrelentingly.
Ten feet is a longer distance than I realized.
Eyes on me,
Sweet hands knocking on doors,
Doors I didn’t asked to be opened,
Doors I don’t want.
But am I wrong?
Calling faith what is in fact fear?
Rest what is in fact sloth?
Do their eyes see clearly the deception of my heart?
Holding my breath
Struggling to submit in the pause
Do you want them?
My door is for you.
Mine, you will want.
Celebrating the rough beauty of truth with Emily