.

there is a sun at the gates

a blazing star

waiting to be let in

withering the wood, weathering it too

until the door stands no more

and the gates are open

there is a sun at the gates

raining fire over the fields

shining over the stone

melting it

into seas of grey and black

white and yellow and gold

and it shines silent, patient

eons in the making

eons before it fades

it has waited and shall wait again

and one day perhaps

when the gates open or stand no more

after being rebuilt time and time again

one day, perhaps

eventually

the sun will shine on you too

there is a sun at the gates

small yet immensely vast

bigger than anything

burning hot, coiling

a warmth against itself, within itself

and yet

it burn without burning

it hurts without hurting

and the gate knows it cannot hold it

for beyond the wood,

beyond the stone,

beyond the steel that holds it together

beyond all that

the sun

the sun waits and lies

it lies dormant and awake

it lies with night, with words

and it needs not to rise to rouse itself from its slumber

for what can ever sleep may never die

there is a sun at the gates

and as the bells toll to announce its arrival

the king knows

a sun meeting another

a star burning another star

indomitable power in front of indomitable power

in the face of the man from god

from one god to another

what holds and what doesn’t

that may very well be the question

but the gate knows

in all of the things

that may or may not

it is not destined to hold

for it is to be opened

there is a sun at the gates

and the gates are patient

yet the sun is patienter still

what lies beyond

what remains within

what exists in between

there are no edges

no frontiers

only light

and perhaps, in time,

one can learn to look at it

to watch it, to admire it,

without burning

.

---

voiced in the twilight of sleep, writen at dawn