And there is no heaven like this
In thanks for promises living still
In scars like parched earth preaching pain
Emanating scents of pined remains.
And blows entrusted to hardened souls
Does twice release our famous foe
The vacuum from a heart removed
Of ifs and trails of lost unknowns.
And dry as a fine wine wetting love
Is prophecy dancing on our furrowed brows
The heartbeat of a marching band
The vacant clamor of a funeral drum.
And in running there is hope to find
Photographs of a different time
Memoried like a stolen kiss
of a heaven much like this.