The pearly gates aren’t white.
Nor golden, for that matter.
I ponder if they’re even there.
One thing for sure is that
They’re black.
As black as Shachath’s onyx wings.
Open your eye, my dear.
Your eye with the mark of the falcon.
I whisper your name so softly
As my voice gets lost in the sea of desperation.
The hours are too loud
And the seconds too bright.
I want to see if you would let me in.
You were there when I was born.
You were there when Azareal kissed for the first time.
You were there as I took my first breath.
I can hear the ravens caw
Like an alarm clock, but reversed,
Telling me to sleep.
Because The Dreaming and The Shadowless Fields are just a door away.
The door where I’m standing at right now.
The door only her sigil can open.