The mistress of my hereafter stole me away,
As she so oft does,
To a few minutes of quiet conversation.
In her silenced voice I could read my own
Long since Christianed anguish,
So near it is - but so ****** far away.
If only in Faraway we had us a private cottage,
Maybe then we could retire to our dreams.

The dressing room there
Would always be yours.
For I make everything yours
And call it so beforehand.
Thus making you the mistress
Of my entire hereafter.
My alpha - my omega.

This “Hereafter” is but a melancholy term ‘lest
We find ourselves stole away whilst
Communicating through our spirits.
For in spirit we have already met and
Shall surely meet again.
Let the certainty of it
Brighten us with its forth coming.

Thou surely must be the author
Of the utmost of our faith.
Faith in that day of heaven’s thought where
In Faraway the cottage nestles between
Twin peaks in the sweetest valley
Ever laid at your feet while eyes
See every days' blue azure sky.

There we dine together by candlelight
In the middle of the day while we
Cater the meal toward happiness.
In Faraway, all around us lives
In a rapturous praise along with all that ever was.
And if you should ever find my wit oppressing to
Your kindness, then show your disdain and
I will surely take my leave.

As we look together through the candlelight
Let us see only the highest values in each other.
Let my eyes put your name on notice
That if I were so employed as to be a slave
In this land called Faraway, then my heart
Would be no less than the prophet accommodated
Somewhere within your walls.

There with a stool and a candlestick
I would sit patiently waiting for your unmaking.
There my soul could be at peace from this world.
I’d lean against your wall with the candle in my hand,
I’d look into your eyes as I blew out the light.
The cottage would then come to life
As would the hearth within us.

We’d breathe in each other fueling the fire.
For love is the fuel that burns here in Faraway,
Our sweet vapors rising high into the sky.
They are bless'ed fires that never end.
Come - blow out the candle once more and
Let's lose our disguises–
Later I'll relight the candle so we can
Blow it out and do it all over again.

there's a poem I have written
that probably makes no sense
to anybody whom would read

it's simply the names of every
person who has made a change
of great influence in my lifetime

most people probably wouldn't
understand it at all, thinking that
it was just a list of random names

but it's the most precious poem I have