There
At the edge of the world
Souls surge to vanish
Into the great fire
The ocean of which we call
Nonexistence
Those souls were pulsing
Some with the bloodlust of the assailant
Others with the privilege of the rich old man
(Who has seen the world from every angle
Himself - in the mirror far too often
But his essence - not once)
Others yet with the prejudice of the neighbor
Who relishes sitting at the window
The place from which the little boy may be condemned for his wrongdoing
(The taking of a branch which must to her clearly belong)
They vanished into nothingness
On their way to heaven
But I got stuck
I was stopped by the lower bit of my shirt
Desperately clinging onto a sharp rock
Yet not halted with enough force
For the fabric to be torn
I got stuck because I had doubted
That heaven was there to begin with
Because once I had a friend
Who served the light
Whom illness dragged into death at random
Yet not once did my prayers confirm
That my friend was then in a good place
There were no signs of his ascension
Only a tombstone
Growing more desolate by the hour
With candles being blown out by wind
And a declining number of daily visitors
Since I had doubted
And as the rock halted me abruptly
I stood up, legs knee-deep in the water
And closed my eyes merely to conceive
That we are born to die
(There being heaven or not)
And that we've had thousands of years of experience
In NOT getting over it
So I lifted my fists like antennae to the unimpressed sky
As I have before
And I leapt forth
To see the end credits
Or, possibly, to speak with the manager
