I imagine my friend some distance away,
and i shift, taking a short cut, from here
to there—soaking up the energy i may,
and strengthening the bond i hold dear.
I used to think i had nightmares across
the extra dimension, murdering bad
people in real time, subject to the boss,
the equation that would make me sad,
or sadder, if I didn’t do His work.
My kills brought me tranquil energy,
as I scared away every jerk
that trespassed on the spirits i free,
when, each day, I add a little, to His book,
righting the world. But I now believe
that every bad person, in their nook,
in heaven, serves the life I receive
when I pay their penance without a knife,
or some instrument of eternal pain,
that, in agony, would take a life,
if i lived, in fact, with mortal disdain.
It seems to me, now, that my father in
heaven prefers to let him run his course,
living out the gauntlet of measured sin,
adding up to His opposing force,
which, in turn, is the limit of paradise.
But my suffering has meaning for me,
now—i have the power to be precise,
and cut the cancer from His holy tree—
the living knowledge of good and evil.
So i eat the fruit that was meant for me,
and, as i would suffer, i also distil
the juice that gets me high as i can be,
a product of the shifts i make from one
home to the next, exchanging pleasantries,
and dreaming up, for us, loads of fun.
I get up, after a time, from my knees,
having secured the love that I reflect,
and give thanks for all i could hope to be,
if, for some reason, my life was circumspect,
and i was forced to relive mortality.
I have, through His consciousness, all that i
need—a material gift of His arc,
from the center to the life i spy,
when, because of His love, I feel the spark
that leads to transmission. So i relate
the realization of heavenly law,
taking, from darkness, the food on my plate,
and drawing, from God, the shortest straw.