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at his gates
by Charlie Morganfalling forward a sidewalk claims another granny,
as she trips and becomes just another broken hip.
the first for the downhill trip to Earth's death,
the first step toward living with the Christ-man.
from a life to a death, only to live again.
death holds the door open letting all in
and keeps watch on the exit, pointing to
the gates; heaven? hell? mmm, let's see.
there's that time you slapped your cousin.
and when you stole your mama's cigarette.
that time you took $20 from daddy's pocket.
and that time you cheated on that math test.
the other times that you lied to the girls,
mama, daddy, uncle, aunt, friends: all lies.
the door will be closed as i finally arrive,
with a twisted forehead St. Peter will wince
as he hates to turn anyone away, even me. 07/29/2008 Posted on 07/29/2008
Copyright © 2024 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 07/29/08 at 03:51 PM Powerhouse stuff, sir. Especially that ending. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 07/29/08 at 05:38 PM Nice write my friend. As Rodin's sculpture sits and contemplates the gates we impale ourselves on the surrounding fence spears always wondering what awaits us. In the end I believe it is all the same. - Dust to Dust. |
| Posted by Mary Frances Spencer on 07/30/08 at 05:12 AM "death holds the door open letting all in"....says it all here! wow...really resonates the end/beginning...MFS |
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