she has 100 gates, all of them leading in
but alike in appearance when locked or not
so one needs to turn the handle
a hearty heft of shoulder and
hip to see if the hinges will budge
some of them are marked to
beware of dogged thought
alarm wire hidden on thresh, behold
key under the fake, bolder
under surveillance of query
but one needs to turn the handle
and reveal layers of conquest
gates within guarding the heart of the matter
secondary and tertiary considerations
one leading to others, a diverged path,
thus forced to choose an identity
this maze of gates can bog the weary
traveler that may freeze with indecision
others may prefer to jump the fence
out before they find the way
in they might be surprised
if they would only turn the handle
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