A dream

The saints ascend to Elysian realms step by step

while I only dream of chariots of stars,

carrying with me from age to age my pain and scars,

burning with false fire and quasi-pep.

The saints cross sea green silky fields,

having fought the righteous war and won

with their breastplates of redemption and strong shields

while I only dream of salvation’s sun

shinning on me, and releasing me

from chains of bondage and transgression.

The saints stroll into the candescent wondrous city

with resurrected kings, transparent rivers and the tree

of eternal flame. An end to oppression,

while I soak in the pernicious fumes of pity.