I stood at the door forever
Wondering if I should knock
How many times have I turned
To start back down that walk

Beyond it lay.... my redemption ?
Or maybe my reflection incarnate
Of what I am..... or want to be
If....
I can ever wipe clean the slate

November rains incessant
making puddles in the twilight mists
As winter looms like empty tombs ..await
The metaphoric slitting of my wrists

To deny me the sanctity of the threshold
Beyond the ability to knock upon the door
The rapture of ocean breezes or sailing ships
That will take me to other worlds beyond this shore

Yet I stand here poised in static grace
My hand raised unmoving trembling to my core
I fear no answer will come to my transgression ...
                       .....my confession ....my fear
Is that GOD no longer answers those who seek solace
     Knocking at HEAVENS. door .

How many times have I turned? How many?