The Open Gate
--Jonathan Galbraith
The strongest walls are built from pain—
from all the tears we chose to chain.
Brick after brick, we seal the seam
until the heart forgets to dream.
At first it feels like strength to stand
untouched by grief, unmoved by hand.
A colder calm, a guarded art—
the slow hard armor of the heart.
But stone can never truly live,
nor feel the quiet gifts stars give.
A sealed-off soul may never break—
yet neither will it truly wake.
For grief is not a flaw in clay;
it is the place the light finds way.
The wound you carry, raw and deep,
is where the hidden currents seep.
The ones who dare to feel the ache,
to let their guarded borders shake,
discover something fierce and true:
the universe is moving through.
For every sorrow that you bear
is proof your soul is still aware—
still tuned to every fragile thread
that binds the living and the dead.
The hardened heart grows small with time,
a silent cell, a private crime.
But those who let their sorrow start
leave open gates within the heart.
And through that gate—though pain may start—
comes breath from the Creator’s heart.
The same deep pulse in distant flame
that called the galaxies by name.
To feel, though sharp, though hard to bear,
is still to know that God is there—
and every tear you dare to start
keeps open heaven in the heart.
Luke 17:20b-21
“The kingdom of God does not come with observation; nor will they say, ‘See here!’ or ‘See there!’ For indeed, the kingdom of God is within you.”
Matthew 7:13-14
“Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it."
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 10:15 AM UTC
The Open Gate
--Jonathan Galbraith
The strongest walls are built from pain—
from all the tears we chose to chain.
Brick after brick, we seal the seam
until the heart forgets to dream.
At first it feels like strength to stand
untouched by grief, unmoved by hand.
A colder calm, a guarded art—
the slow hard armor of the heart.
But stone can never truly live,
nor feel the quiet gifts stars give.
A sealed-off soul may never break—
yet neither will it truly wake.
For grief is not a flaw in clay;
it is the place the light finds way.
The wound you carry, raw and deep,
is where the hidden currents seep.
The ones who dare to feel the ache,
to let their guarded borders shake,
discover something fierce and true:
the universe is moving through.
For every sorrow that you bear
is proof your soul is still aware—
still tuned to every fragile thread
that binds the living and the dead.
The hardened heart grows small with time,
a silent cell, a private crime.
But those who let their sorrow start
leave open gates within the heart.
And through that gate—though pain may start—
comes breath from the Creator’s heart.
The same deep pulse in distant flame
that called the galaxies by name.
To feel, though sharp, though hard to bear,
is still to know that God is there—
and every tear you dare to start
keeps open heaven in the heart.
Luke 17:20b-21
“The kingdom of God does not come with observation; nor will they say, ‘See here!’ or ‘See there!’ For indeed, the kingdom of God is within you.”
Matthew 7:13-14
“Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it."