Cry aloud, for you're almost at the door
Cry, sharply, for your new dreams to arrive
When you close your eyes, you sense what before
Went unfelt, unawakened, unalive
But now the visions are as real as you
They make the sweat bead on your fragile face
You see the door, and hasten to step through
Your feet are guided by angelic grace
What awaits you there is not forbidden
But bidden rightly so by your own prayers
Light has come at last to what was hidden
And you are washed free of your former cares

A statue stands -- a solemn work of clay
Reminding you of those who lost their way
Once a woman, clothed in her body's skin
Frozen as though dead, dead for her own sin
This is the form she left behind at birth
It is but the dust of the cool, grey earth
She left it behind, needing it no more

She was the first to pass beyond that door
She cried, sharply, for her dreams to arrive
When she closed her eyes, she knew that before
There were others, there was she -- unalive.


---jrw 6:50am