Poem January 4, 1964 Issue

THE CLOSED DOORS

Ruth Burrows

Closed doors! They speak to us of human fear,
As when King Herod, keen to please the Jews
Had Peter chained to guards and thrown in jail
Behind closed doors and hoped by doing so
To silence, once for all, the truths he taught—
Upsetting truths to smug complacency.

Did Peter plan while lying helpless there
To wait his chance—a door not fast, perhaps—
And so escape? Or did he pray to God
For sharpened wits to cope with guards and chains?
No! Peacefully he slept. Made no attempt
To outsmart mortal hate on its home ground.

Then, being still, he felt the angel touch.
A heightened sense of man all unconfined.
So easily the shackles fell away
He thought he dreamed. The great doors swinging wide
At his approach were like a vision till
He stood outside and knew himself awake.