I know this place.
I know it too well.
Many times i have stood at this gate
Expecting The Master to answer.
Each time
Every time
The wrong entrance.
By now i should recognize this door
Recognize it from the sidewalk, no less.
I should know these pickets
These posts
The wrought iron of the handle, even.
But here i stand
Yet again.
Same gate.
No Master.
Yet again.
It may be forgetfulness.
Or maybe just lack of attention.
Or a bad sense of direction.
But here i am again.
Like a long lost Jehovah’s Witness.
Reading signs on the door
“No Loitering”
“No Salesmen”
“No Trespassing”
No need to reach for the handle
Nor to knock on the door.
The Master isn’t here.
Not even hiding behind the door and Refusing to answer.
Sick and angry
To see my face again at the gate.
Please, Sir
Please
Don’t sic the dogs on me again. I Promise  i won’t come back.

But we both know i am lying.

I will return, again and again.
Never recognizing the path to the gate
Until it’s too late.
I know this place.
I know it too well.