Your Door Is Locked

I walked down the dark alleys,
Looking into the grimiest windows.
I drove like a knife dividing the night,
Sleeping by the side of the road in the light
Of the sun.
I asked the sky, I begged the moon,
I cursed the time-carrying sea
That led me to you.
Your door was locked.
I knocked.
You did not open it.

I studied Kant and Confucius,
Socrates and Nietzsche,
Thomas Paine and Aquinas.
I tried to understand why
They all said something different yet
They all led me to you.
To a door that is locked.

I read the poems of the Sufi Mystics,
The Chinese wanderers,
The English Romantics, the doped-up Beats,
The angry American drunks
And the lovely suicidal women.
They led me to you.
Your door is locked.

I said Ohm in the Ashram,
Questioned G-d in the Temple,
Stared into the eyes of Catheaded and Lionheaded deities
Long buried before us,
Lit candles in Cathedrals of Jesus and of alone,
And all of them led me to the Hosanna of you.
They led me to your door.
Your door is locked.

I sleep uneasily,
I awaken in a pool of sweat,
Not remembering the nightmares.
I awaken to me standing
Before a locked door,
Waiting. 

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.