Tiny Red Fist

There is a knock, a knock at my door.
A tiny red fist, beating against eternity's wall.

Dare I open and see the future unfurled, 
or the forgotten truth of the past revealed.

Perhaps I will join the six hundred, 
and their charge down the greased razor toward immortality.

Or will I cross the bar on the wings of butterflys, 
that beat me to death. 

Sometime I wish I could just remain the king of the realm,
in the land of the blind men.

But alas, the door has no lock,
and eternity will soon flood in.

By Ron Russell
Copyright:  July 2001