A Hint of Heaven

 

What do people do in heaven?

Are there seven

days a week - and

in that strange land

would you be you, would I be me?

Would we be free

to share unplanned

evenings, demand

a room together? Is it dull -

and endless lull

where bored saints stand,

sinlessly bland?

 

I stumbled on what's holy, here,

with you. No prayer

solves the contrast

between that past

and what remains as we grow old.

Were we fool's gold?

What cannot last

leaves us aghast -

but leaving paradise, which breaks

the heart, yet wakes

each lone outcast

to its broadcast.

 

First published in 'Originally of Clapham' anthology, 2014