I had already understood
that it was about choosing
what made me feel good
but
what if what made me feel good
wasn’t what God wanted for me?
For so long
I chained myself to this doubt
this anxiety
I came to the conclusion
that I was no saint
that the ticket to hell
was free
while the ticket to heaven
cost me far too much
So maybe
I should try my luck
live whatever life could give me at its best
Because only in the end
would I know
if God would have mercy on me

one after another hellbound whiplash
from the whistling infernal crop of sin
administered by the succubus fiend
against my bent back physically aching
yet internally healed by the sinful pains
of inferior flesh so tightly restrained
by binding chains from tartarean depths
so spiritually freeing as is the worship
of carnal sacrilege during sunday mass
religiously devoted to masochistic desire
by unholy veneration of blasphemous lust
bent at the whips and bowed at the feet
of the god incarnate merciless mistress

At the edge of forgiveness.
The stars sing to my eyes.
Planets aligned.
And I forgive you.

Toward the tranquility haze.
Celestial Sapphire blooms.
Heavens daydream.
Arcadia reverie.

On light wings I blaze.
Outer planet and into the macrocosm
Into forever passed eternity.
And beyond the beyond.

I travel to the creator.
And observe the expanding canvas.
Void becomes darkness and light.
And Life and death.

Bring from the beyond

a stone
as proof

of existence,

that our bodies

remain in this

dimension.

Bring proof

that your soul,

having departed,

will return

on the morrow,

reborn
in a world

of a new body;

new homes

made of matter.

But

what if we

the struck
evolved from a bacterium;

the Big Bang theory,

Charles’s ape?

No soul remains after death,

we don’t even have one;

prayers fall silent,

hymns fade away,

monasteries

SILENCE.

Is it not frightening?

Does your heart not ache deep inside,
even if you say

you don’t believe in greatness,

somewhere within
you beg for forgiveness.

Prayer saves

from the darkness

of vanity.

Are heaven and soul
made of atoms?

After death,
I will not be gone—
I will be wind, touching your skin,
I will be silence, deep within.

The body fades, the name dissolves,
But the soul—
The soul returns to the rhythm of stars,
To the breath before beginnings,
To the light that dreams all forms.

There is no end,
Only a door swinging inward.
I become the question and the answer,
The seed, the flame, the sky undone.

I will not speak,
But you will feel me in stillness—
When time pauses,
And your heart remembers
That it too is part of the infinite.

Death is not loss,
But a returning to source.
A merging with the song
That sings through all.

So do not mourn—
I have not vanished.
I have returned to everything.

I don't worship you because you are no God
but an angel whose wings reach out
your feathers just settled on my skin long
enough for me to understand there is a
rough edge to a feather,
when it scrapes past your skin
leaving you to have just a moment's taste
savoring
mourning the peaceful moment of contact
one day you sit down to pray for
heaven to come down again, closing your
eyes and never opening them
again.

Love for me is a gift,
Heaven bestowed.
It’s a rushing waterfall,
The amazing desired award.

Love for me is happiness,
Which is forever appeased.
And if you get it suddenly,
Please, don’t ever miss it.

Love for me is an evening,
Where candles are burning and nobody…
You’re gently stroking my hand and whispering
Something solely for me.

Love for me is the world,
Where’re both of us - me and you!
My photo is in your phone screen.
My darling, how I love you!

I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.

I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.

It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning, heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?

At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.

After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley