I heard this poem read more than a year ago and it has stayed with me. The other day I ran into the poet. Blessed timing.

Before Your Gates

At last, Beloved, this insurgent stands
before Your gates, without a guard or chains.
I bring no army; I make no demands.
Blood-stained and battle-weary from campaigns
against Your grace, I offer nothing more
yet nothing less than my own helplessness.
How self-defeating this armor I wore:
my arrogance, my pride—so powerless
to blunt Your volleys of mercy and truth!
My swords of vanity, these spears of greed—
whose blood was shed but mine?  Still but a youth
in ways divine, I fought in thought and deed.
At last, Beloved, this disciple kneels
in service to the Will Thy peace reveals.

Robin Tawney lives in Albuquerque, where he has a private practice in body-centered psychotherapy, and writes poetry about his ever-evolving relationship to the Beloved.

P.S. Receive posts directly to your inbox—subscribe now.

Discover more from Lesley S. King

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading