What happens in heaven?
Will I sit on a cloud?
Is walking or talking
Or jumping allowed?
Will I be on my own
Or with some of my friends?
Does it go on for ever
Or eventually end?
The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower,
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
Sad is the man who is asked for a story
and can't come up with one.
His five-year-old son waits in his lap.
Not the same story, Baba. A new one.
The man rubs his chin, scratches his ear.
In a room full of books in a world
of stories, he can recall
not one, and soon, he thinks, the boy
Friend, in the desolate time, when your soul is enshrouded in darkness
When, in a deep abyss, memory and feeling die out,
Intellect timidly gropes among shadowy forms and illusions
Heart can no longer sigh, eye is unable to weep;
When, from your night-clouded soul the wings of fire have fallen
And you, to nothing, afraid, feel yourself sinking once more,
Say, who rescues you then?—Who is the comforting angel
Brings to your innermost soul order and beauty again,
Building once more your fragmented world, restoring the fallen
Altar, and when it is raised, lighting the sacred flame?-—
On the dark and gloomy night
Walking down the lonely trail
As if she was destined to fail.
With no clear destination in her mind
Escaping from something
Maybe it’s from her past.
With all the heartbreaks and scars
She wears her beautiful smile
in radiance and colors
yields life changing love
sign of love everlasting
and prayers answered
in orange sun of our days
I was a minister of the gospel, very happily living my life for the Lord,
Preaching the Word every Sunday, in the spirit of affinity and accord.
I always knew that I would preach, for I had been called in my youth,
To perpetually serve the will of God, while forever speaking His truth.
Like the lush gardens of springtime, are all abloom with fresh purpose,
Spreading joy with their presence, in a gold, green ritual that is ageless.
I lived an exceedingly busy life, doing work that was dear to my heart,
“Throw me something Mister!”
She hollered from the heavens up above...
Some pretty beads...
As she quietly pleaded...
Or maybe a turtle dove...
We lost her way too early...
She was a gift from God...
A beautiful child...
Both sweet and mild...
I see an angel all cloudy white...
My first intuition is to run in fright...
But should I stay and then I might...
Get a little closer and touch the light...
I see an angel floating high above...
My defensive side says to give it a shove...
But the angel is so pure and white as a dove...
I want to get closer and feel the love...