at the gate

i stand alone
at the gate.
i have come
to this at this point
in my life.
at this gate.
this iron fence.
behind it something waits.
there is always
something waiting, behind
each door
i knock on.
i know nothing about where
i'm going,
but i accept that easily
with each
passing year.
the days brush by like
bullets
from a gun. i no longer
hear the bang,
or see the smoke,
i just feel
the bullet rush by,
missing me once more.
today i am at the gate,
tomorrow, God willing,
i'll be at another.