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.

Photo by Dameli Zhantas on Unsplash




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