Crossings

I have felt the mysteries of this age
As the world wanes and I move
Slowly towards some unmarked exit
I see many doors all around leading out
And people filing into lines at these crossings
I wonder to myself at the busyness of it
The time and preparation involved
The singing of hymns and memory of verse
I see the jovial content and gladness
Until another line is noticed
Then the pointing of fingers, the judgment
I stand so far removed from this it is
But a distant vision that I ponder
From where I Am – They do not see
That every door of every choice
Is but revolving – And Me
Finding humor in it All.

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