The great key

It is colder than the thermometer claims

as we near the end of the season

the season of dying

the fall

felt all the more keenly for fasting

hunger leaves space for faith.

The gate lies open

and the inscription above bids me enter.

Music comes from within

although no service is in train

and standing here on the threshold

only ancient oak separates me from God

but the door stays closed to me

the great key was turned from the other side.

(c) 2013 The Slush Poet