The Room

The room is calm, serene, unlike the storm outside

Few enter it, though countless numbers try

The way to it is narrow and littered with jagged glass,

This suffering necessary for those who wish to pass

A marker stands like a sentinel, placed there to point the way,

Words etched on it reading: “offer a sacrifice of praise”

The door is open wide for all, but it is rarely found

The only ones who see it are lying on the ground

Wracked with pain and grief, they fight to obey,

Parched lips opening, the healing words to say:

“Thank You.”

Then they’re through the door and in a quiet place,

Awash in purest light, swept away by grace

Do you know what they find, in this room so hard to reach?

It is it not the sorrow the rocky pathway seems to preach

But a thing we all search for, whether life is grand or dull

Only in His presence can we attain it: joy to the full

Strange that such a glorious treasure, desired by all men,

Is found through humble and heart and words repeated yet again:

“Thank You.”

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