Gateway: A poem 

If wounds could be healed, 

sorrow could be congealed 

Walls would be no boundaries 

but benevolently shady trees 

A prayer is a rejuvenating limerick 

Reignites the bard’s burnt-out wick 

And the thin narrow space he walks 

becomes roomy hallways without locks 

Let the ghosts of time ceaselessly play 

Circumstance’s bitterness not shatter like clay 

Hurt may not shorten a painful day 

But the valley for the river makes way 

The blinds can be determinedly flung open 

And the garbage chucked out in the bin 

Time and space stop being linear and radial 

in the fantastic vastness of the pineal