Aug 2014
At the Golden glorious gates of Heaven stand I,
In meek merit and weakness divine, unable to enter.
Looking in at the white and red, and ample boughs,
Trembling with fear: feverish with desire of thought.
Approach I the glimmering constant gates,
Wrought out of my being and fibres.
My weakness and strength, my thoughts and ignorances'
And moulded in my lacks, and my fire and awe
Rings out in defiance and mockery of myself
but it echoes my heralds and welcomes my approach.
In meek merit and weakness divine, unable to enter.
Looking in at the white and red, and ample boughs,
Trembling with fear: feverish with desire of thought.
Approach I the glimmering constant gates,
Wrought out of my being and fibres.
My weakness and strength, my thoughts and ignorances'
And moulded in my lacks, and my fire and awe
Rings out in defiance and mockery of myself
but it echoes my heralds and welcomes my approach.
This is something I wrote while in school, so please excuse me if it seems a little immature. I don't remember what my inspiration was or what I was trying to convey. My major influence was Andrew Marvel one of the greatest metaphysical ever.
