Beyond the son one dry yellow portal

sends souls to moments as mortals,

ordained round again out of time, amen,

right hand lifts up and left condemns.

As it is above it is below.

Not yet he or she, not dead but sleep walk

a flight of cool stone soft foot falls,

decline out of step, shrink and grow to turn

back for ever more dying born.

As it is enough it is unknown.

Wet red room in flesh holds every present.

Hope springs but despair's in descent.

Old scarred chamber walls close in to gasp last.

A door shuts out what came to pass.

As it is beloved it is alone.