If I were to ascend to heaven
eventually, from my bed
I'd spend all my eternity
wishing for earth instead.

For heaven is no location
to live up to its name
it is a feeling of satisfaction
And so will never change.

If I had it, I would not realize
It would be the closest ever came
to end, because you stop the fight
to make things better than your dreams.

And if it is reality,
then it is daily life,
a utopia of living,
the green on the other side.

I will take what I can get
and it will be no paradise.
But at least I will have some purpose
and will to survive.

My old great-aunt Elaine with her withered hands gave me $200 and beaded handbag
"This your mad money," she told me, as we sat on that nursing home couch, "And it ain't for your purse. This goes in your shirt, where only you know you got it."
The assisted-living nurse chuckled to herself. They got along, my great-aunt and her.
"Why?"
"Cuz if you get angry," she said, in that Marlboro-raspy voice of hers, "And you gotta go, you walk out on your date and you leave 'is ***. And then you got your money for a strong drink. And your cab."
The nurse laughed
My aunt re-situated herself on the nursing home couch. Elaine Dauterive. Her mind was going, and so was her health, but she was as regal as a queen on her throne in that moment
her fire-red hair, ungrayed, was her crown
No cape as royal as that sleeping gown.
"Don't you think for once second I can't take care of you, honey," she said in that creole drawl, and I knew what she meant
Because even after she'd gone I would have that mad money
All stuffed in my bra for when I needed it
Because she was older than time, for me, seeing things like
The Great Depression, World War II
What I read in history books
I'd be ****** if I took what she said with even one grain of salt because Auntie-Lane, I'll be ****** if I don't love you
And I know you're on your way out and
I'll buy you whiskey in the afterlife with some of that $200 cash that you busted your *** scrounging up for me
Southern hospitality at its finest
And those liver spots redder than wine adorn you like badges of honor for all of the years you've endured
My elder - creole woman, with a soul as fire-red as her hair, breathing more smoke than air
My old dragon
On a pile of gold: her mad money

Friend of mine,
Distant and between us
is death and time.
To you I sincerely write,
Let us meet once again
In another life.

Showing to me
What it means to be
A bona fide friend.
Showing a shoulder
Always one to depend.
Of this letter I send,
To you I hope it shall ascend.

Burn it with prayer
To travel through the realms
and traverse the air!
Breakthrough to heaven's lair,
Hoping one day I will meet you there.

One last time I wish to say
What was missed and left out that day.
Twas that you had an exceptional mind,
Your heart was spread and unconditionally kind.
So sadly caught was I, and to this I was blind.

So signed here is what was missed
Pinned with tears was this to your bier
Wishing and emotional that you were here..

Death awaits
Beyond the gates,
Of the mortal walls that we call life.
The man that's there,
Gives an empty stare
And carries a heavy scythe.

An abstruse hand he lends
As he tends,
To be generous in this fateful gest.
The lost soul reaver,
The great bereaver
Who delivers your eternal rest.

Death has made a quiet little cozy home in my head
Sometimes I creep into bed with it
And watch it sleep
Wondering when it will caress my cheek
Begging not to take anything else but me
And so if it decided to return
Id go willingly
I'll float through time and space
Watching everything happen at a speed of light pace
Hopefully my loved ones move on and forget
They don't deserve any type of fear or regret
Ascending through the ozone and into sun



Where do i go from here

I dreamt I was lying,
forever dying.

Death is a question,
Life's but a mention.

I dreamt I was sitting,
forever believing.

Sadness is pure fear,
Happiness is but sheer.

I dreamt I was standing,
forever pandering.

Sight is not seeing,
blindness is but believing.

I dreamt I was writing,
forever sighing.

Hearing has no sound,
Listening is to bound.

I dreamt I was fed,
forever I was dead.

I had a life once, with friends and school and clubs.
I don't anymore.
Does that make this the afterlife?

the ceremony is over
it was a perfect show

Today, I bled a little more.
Tomorrow I'll likely bleed again.
Such is the daily living chore
that life has become.
Such is the cursing crimson roar
of a fear of being done.
But what's to fear, I wonder?
Should I fear what's yet to come?

If I died tomorrow, I would go, I think where go all.
I would walk in Heaven's winding hall, or burn in pits below.
It matters little, if one is asked to be the avatar
of all that scriptures blithely claim;
A life well lived is a reward well bought, but what eternity can match a gift
so lovely and profane?

How can I be called a blackguard?
How can I be ****** to Hell?
If mortal sin is so ephemeral as an errant, earnest thought?
Was Faust so very wrong to sell
               something so heavy and cheaply bought?