Reaching the illusory heaven
Is no more than counting steps to seven
Lifetimes ebb, arguing which foot lands each step
A few strides won’t do when lost in the treeless steppe
The arms may swing, but the legs won’t move
It’s a struggle when there’s something left to prove
The clock decides when the house is sold
And the attic emptied of its gold
When the mind gladly withers
No more a preening bird displaying feathers
The doorbell need not ring
It’s drowned out by a thunderous wellspring
Heaven is quiet, the ears may be left behind
Even the eyes, ornaments that render us blind
What can we take? Everything is already there
Steps disappear when we walk in as the rightful heir
Originally published at www.mindandsoul.space