When Heaven Isn’t Heaven


Until death do we part? It comes and goes floats away? Have I lived a life of love and pain to die alone and die in vain? This sharpened crushing and crusading noise, this complaining voice, avoiding the chorus of a choir which bored and broke the hollow home. It shook the shallow bone. This flinching, wincing and falling in time. It falls and fails its own flailing rhyme; a philosophy which lacks a familiar spine. What is one without the other? Is heaven still heaven without my mother? Should I wait and see that final day to hate or flee from what never was a fresh, a smiling day? That moment when I closed my tired, torn and dying eyes, I saw a floating, fleeting spectral there, above my bed and still alive, I felt my flesh begin to sing, joined by a familial symphony. Just a dream? Then cast me down to where they are, to earth, to hell or flung into the prison’s care for heaven isn’t heaven without each and every of my loved ones there.

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