I will arrive,
Crawling, as I am,
The briars still clinging to my feet
Terminating their journey
With final, gouging determination
But I will not be invited in,
For I will not have the strength to knock
I will arrive,
Mute and dry
No air to herald my return
But the tight, laboured, wheezing
Momentos of forgotten flame and smoke.
But I will not be invited in
For I will not have the voice to call out
I will arrive,
Blinded and frozen
Squinting where the blood has dried
And fused my lashes so completely
And stained my cheeks the colour of hate
But I will not be invited in
For I will not have the face of a friend
You will arrive
Clean, with trumpet sounding
And He will open the ornate door
Then stoop down to puzzle
And recognize a daughter amid the mess
You will be invited in
And I will be carried
