by Pavel Chichikov
Put down that camera sir and look
What do you think you are, an eye?
I am the boundless and unique
That you call God, of Whom all speak
But nothing know, here is My star
Which showed my birthing from afar
And here the manger, in it straw
Which those magicians, shepherds saw
Here is my home, and here the bench
Where I worked wood, no worthy prince
And yet the others deemed Me bright –
A different sort, a thoughtful wight
They also looked as you at Me
But did not see My destiny
But I saw theirs, as I see yours
And much beside, I am the door
The hinge, the gate, the entrance way
Which you must pass, and pass away –
Now look you through, you will see all
Your present, past, what will befall
Time's boundary and spacious plain
But once perceived and not again
For at the point and on the hinge
I will swing open, let you in
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
