Saturday, June 03, 2006


My body is not my own. It's on loan. I cannot choose when I will lose it. That's why I bruise and abuse it, accuse it of hurting me, deserting me.

When I'm in pain from stress and strain my head goes insane while the rest of me assures it has cures for me and if I endure long enough, stay strong enough. live pure enough, sure enough I'll have the stuff to see me through.

My body. One day the world is mine, sweet as wine, not a sign. Then I begin to waste away, gradually decay. In the end all that's left of me is a body once a friend to me. It soon will be the end of me, I will die and neither I nor those who try will come close to explaining death to me.

What stilled the spark, what turned off the light, switched on the dark, what sped the pace of travel to this place I've never seen before? Could this myth of Heaven be just a fantasy?

My eyes close tight. I see a bright white light. Flowers blooming everywhere. I breathe perfumed air. Bells ringing. Voices singing. Angels calling, calling, calling me.


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