There I was standing at the gateway,
towering bastilles of stone above me, rustic marble below me,
venturing on into a viable road,
with hope for a meaningful end
And I was emerged, this nostalgic presence,
pathways crossing pathways, under gray skies,
but showing the potential of a summer’s day,
with a refined sense of triumph on the air,
and a warming comfort for all the fears I could ever have.
Up and down, following the lights and returning,
a spirited hue running through edifice upon all,
as if God had doused his bristles in an elegant blush,
to show what was truly waiting in any days to come,
to spend my days within such humble ambiance.
Had I known to be welcome, from the start to the end?
To walk through closed doors, and see what is veiled,
to be apart from the norm, impulsive and colorful,
apart from the accepted approach,
independent and fearless.
And everywhere was sapphire, and emerald, and pallid
in each direction I turned, where St. Thomas of Villanueva would sleep,
two hallowed towers watching with bated breath,
quite a salvation for me, as it was.