There’s a window, opposite my door
out of which I stare, hoping for more,
daily gazing beyond earth’s mound
where all my dreams must be found,
for they are large and out of reach
well beyond what one can teach,
imagined in years of self discipline
where lack of pride was my only sin,
freer, brighter, taller, but slower
are the many ways of hope’s sower
forgetting birth, race and room
this not a home but more a tomb
quiet prayers are said from knee
door behind, this window see,
morning, noon and nightfall say
all will come true, maybe, one day
if I ever rise from my devotion
and find the door for this emotion.
James Callahan 