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.