THERE ARE NO BEGGARS IN HEAVEN
There are no supplicants in Heaven.
For what might they ask? They have it all.
Only in this
life do they wait
on breadlines,
make wishes, pray
away disastrous
outcomes.
This is the
life of worry
and illusion.
At every bend
we face,
unpreparedly alone,
clever demons whose
playthings
we squander,
those ecru trinkets
that neither
polish nor magic
can whiten to
seraphic purity.
Here, we blindly
live out our days,
unalarmed by
inevitable
endings, tickled
by success,
neutral to
what happens next
when the
open-palmed hand is still.
In Heaven,
there are no supplicants,
No need to
pray for one’s salvation.
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