There stands a door to a place beyond,
Leave sin behind, justification, shame and guilt.
The hot burning cold consuming shame, of needs or wants wrongly mis-held, then lost,
Torn by the grasping at of what could not, impossibly be.
Delusions. Illusions. Substituted.
Satan’s sleight of hand brought forth in the human sight of wishful desire, falsely aimed.
The cold chill in the soul of shattered error’d beliefs, a misbegotten mockery of what one thought would fulfill,
Like knives, they cut.
Endlessly keen and writhe, lost. Without aim, alone. Stark vision of flaws, no direction or sight to see other.
A horizonless eternity of condemnation and hopeless loss.
When trust is broken, is there ever repair?
Has there even been truth within or was it always tainted by secret fault, now displayed?
In this desolate place where nothing good or godly or light can be, one small shaft of something different may be found,
Though gazing on it is its own replete pain as the sharpness of worlds lost, one’s soul, is intensified, defined, fully felt.
But there stands a door to a place beyond, present for all, not easily found,
Cloaked in full honesty and worship of God,
New sight required, faith to enter at all.
Perhaps just one more illusion.
One considers the pain of daring to believe, if one could be pierced by false hope or fail again…
Worthy of nothing, undeserving. A worm.
Alone, a poor creator; timeless, endless vanity shown.
But the warmth is beguiling, what is possible draws, allures.
Would my soul be able to hold such again?
No, not again. In truth, new formed.
Not actual holding of illusion and part vision, of truth and lies together this time.
Cut off, all ties to this self created hellish place.
Cut off, all mis-aimed desire of flesh, magnified.
Cut off, all that would hold one here, in this fruition of human desire and need brought forth without God.
Dare to believe, in this place of hot cold empty shame
That there could be a way, a dimension of life beyond.
And one who cares for such as I, who needs so much
To see something more, beyond ones limitations made real,
That one could be restored again. More than, created and modeled anew.
One does stand in the breach and open a way
If one could keep the vision, bare ones soul
And excise all that belongs to this place,
All that would tether and chain from within.
Thus altered, less but more
From the grace of believing in something glorious, eternal, held in store.
Then the living of, once thro that door
That was forged in life’s blood and pain and knowing hard won.
Not mine, though there is that.
Another paid with that loss
So that a small, new formed access might be had.
Marked by that birthing, by his love and by where one was found, one never forgets
What the entry looked like,
Or the broken aloneness lived; eternity left and eternity begun.
Sweet contrast. Living, to glory gifted, not inherently found.
No pride, but such honor from the source of all.
And a keeping the faith til United in full.
This entry to heaven, found here on earth,
No huge edifice that fits through, all.
It is small—minutely, vastly so.
No shame fits through, no pride, no remnant scraps
Of what brought one here, or what binds at all.
No eye of the needle was ever so small.
Entrance requirements: the magnitude of error left behind to answer that call,
Truths believed at cost of the lie,
Made right by another, fealty, praise, bond.
And a dimension beyond, of God and his Son,
Of eternity won by the gift of one,
Of the value placed on a single small now precious soul,
Glory begotten and loves sweet beginning,
Of promises kept and an answer returning.
And a keeping of faith: truths seen, cherished, held
Til time is done, waiting no more
For the vision given and kept, the vision seen and possessed through that great though small door.
By Linda Gelaude
2017