Is heaven just the child
of human desperation
a tiny gasping infant,
blue veined with shaking fists
eternally smothered by my guilt?
I have to believe
for the sore-eyed nights to pass;
to endure the bright tears
and sad-eyed beauty
as you turn away.
I would trade in
the hope of heaven
for the certainty of peace;
I would give up my soul,
hand-written posters on lamp posts saying:
"free to the right family."
You can imagine
how it felt to see
the "right family"
come to see that
soul
and drown its love in pity.
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