I Stand At The Gate

From out of the night they come and cover me. Bending over, I have stooped to this. Looking deep into the pit. I use the stick to back peddle, and from within the pit the stick keeps coming back. Perhaps it is God, because of my, Unquinchable mind. Falling, I clutch at the sides. The sides do not shrink, and without thought as I did not shrink and did not shout. The bottom puts out my voice. Unrolled by the tounge the scroll is filled up. Is it important how long I stand at the gate? How important is it. You are the master of my destiny. I am the captain of your wise mind.