March Of Love
Like an abstract painting on a canvas.
So are the blemishes on my soul.
Each sinful stroke has left a reminder
I can see the gate open on the edge of eternity.
Two paths before me both occupied by souls in route to the gate.
One is crowded like a freeway during rush hour traffic.
The other UN kept and only visible to those that is familiar to him.
Hearing calls from all whom fought the good fight urging me to keep my eyes wide shut to the path that has been trotted to the point it resembles a manicured driveway.
With portals closed.
I allow the gravity of faith to keep my feet steady.
To the march of love.