What I Will Say at the Gates

Saint Peter
Don't deny me now
I have dragged this bag of bones
From the depths of the sea
Onwards to the towering hills
Where light strikes like golden dreams
Here I lay at your feet bereft of any promise
With nothing to show except the works of my hand
Chastise me if you must
For I may have strayed from the path just a little
In need of respite or a night giving into the carnal
But still I have wrought like iron a will stronger than most