A Glimpse of Heaven

The mystics of old saw visions of bliss,

And martyrs could sing surrounded by flame.

Yet I am a skeptic with many doubts,

Dismiss all miracles regardless of fame.

I’ve never been hungry, or worked for a day,

Believe it or not, I’ve never shed tears.

There’s nothing I want, for I have it all,

A life without stress, but now my end nears.

I will soon pass on and never return,

Hug ancestors I have never met,

Find passion beyond my wildest dreams,

Meet the divine in a purple sunset.

But such a place could never exist,

Just wishful thinking of those who are blind.

Like the soothing voices I hear some nights,

Mere creations of a feeble mind.

I cry out in vain when my time finally comes,

And fight the cold grip about my neck.

I suffer defeat and prepare to pass on,

My long train of bliss about to wreck.

The next moment shocks me, straight to the core

For I am not old—there is no need to mourn.

Hands cradle my head and hug me with love,

My small helpless body has just been born.

Now many years later as death calls for me,

I reflect on that womb with its dreaded door.

What seems like an end is merely a threshold,

Gone are my doubts, I have done this before.

- Charles A. Braun