I go knocking on an alien door,
determined to prove life after death,
when, for shame, no doubt, i hit the floor,
reduced to counting every last breath,
as if my life depended on it.
This greater consciousness that i pursue
leaves me, suddenly, to the life i’d quit,
if it didn’t add to the life i’d go to,
a life for love that i’d never resist,
as i might, here, thinking of what’s ahead.
It’s no gamble, is it, that i take,
since nobody, here, would lure me to bed,
with promises of heavenly bliss, right
here, right now? I have nowhere i should go,
no other way to address my plight,
so, for the best, I’m all that i know,
and i lose nothing if i’m wrong. What’s good
for me, then, is to keep my consciousness
in stride, for as long as healthy minds would
take the cake, and live without redress.
I only wish i could take what’s hollow
and give it the life i imagine when,
for better or worse, in a state, i’d glow
amidst the bodies of many men,
working toward a common goal—pleasing
the flesh, and by extension, the soul,
having realized what others would sting,
even if, on them, it took His toll,
leaving them to angst and damnation.
I’d write, then, of the life i love,
instead, i think, of my heavenly station,
at least until a reckoning above
made it possible to live two lives
as one—happy as i’d be both here and there,
free of what, bound by fortune, deprives
the flesh, or the idea that we care,
in the end, for the people we abate,
making the best of His situation,
when the imperfections that we’d hate,
without Him, would defy creation
and stand in the way. I know this life
will never live up, in kind, to the next,
but it could be better, minus the strife
that goes with yearning for the oversexed,
those that i might take into my home,
and use, forthwith, to pass information
from one side of the dimension i roam
to the other—having faced the nation
and conquered my fears, accepting, in truth,
the means i’d employ, if, by now, i made
my way there, passing the torch to my youth—
the continuation of what is delayed
by the time period that i drive, from here
on out, to heaven on earth, which arrives,
for me, i think, after it’s no longer clear
if the life to come, and its many wives,
is meant for those that stayed the course,
directing us to earthly salvation,
instead of relying, solely, on the source,
that which lives in our imagination.