when he closes a door he opens a window
--or that's what the winners say.
but I've never read it writ in stone
and don't know if it applies today.
they talk a lot of fleeces
with promised dew just soaked;
but you also see a mass of soldiers
kneel and get sent home.
they say that God opens doors
but does he ever just say to kick them down?
against all odds to keep going; spent?
all upside down and sideways bent?
let's not be too cryptic now:
i'm talking obstacles and pressing on.
if one day it isn't the mystery of Funds
then the next it is a visa application that might as well be written in friggin' Portugese.
it could still go up in smoke, you know,
this thing for which we try.
one misplaced pen stroke
and it is application denied.
seen smoke signals repeatedly this week
and a dozen times today.
and a Kafkaesque stack of paperwork
and a mind out of rest and play.
one week its like your wildest dreams
and the next you feel dreams shattered.
and if they are this time I do confess
I shan't shrug and say 'no matter.'
I confess it's hard to tell bad luck from good
or providence from scrambling;
or right side up from my own way;
or diligence from gambling.
they talk of open doors or windows
and I talk of kicking down.
if it works for good to those who love,
what am I if it ain't that easy?
I confess I'll be life-deep in lament
if this fails at the last mile.
at times I've felt it slip away
and haven't deflated like that in awhile.
then tonight with my son I read The Horse and His Boy
and it speaks where I lack the prayer.
and as the Lion breathes down Shasta's neck
in the dark there's hope you're there.