Outside the battered door is a courtyard of gravel. Here men walk without shoes and fall to their ravaged knees. Yet there is smooth cool stone inside, bloodstained by the feet and knees of those who have entered.
The plants which adorn the court are but missshapen bushes, yet elegant to he who owns the place. By design, its appearance refuses the praise of the elegant and proud. Only the desperate poor come here.
Within the door, the floor shines from wearing. Billions of feet have scuffed it to a fine polish. The walls depict the beauty of promise; the promise of hope and the promise of accomplishment.
Those who enter are bid “Welcome”. While embrace endures restraint. Commanded are they who attend the visitors, “Help them with what they need. But let us see what they will do”.
The floors above, stage by stage, present a new Horizon. Each stairwell guarded carefully and hidden behind the most narrow of doors. Only with the proper password and consent, may anyone ascend.
Above the floors which one may enter, is a building in the works. No one is allowed past the ceiling of the top floor until the work is finished on the next.
No news of preparation comes from those who build. No revealing of the grandeur they put in place is told or seen. Yet as each floor was finished there were men prepared to climb. So it will be until its completion.
“As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work.”
Words From There 