heaven in mind
Rufus the Verbose
time has to see what all this will mean
living, or death, how our future unfolds unseen.
we're just living, but is living the way we are?
how can we know if we've really come so far?
to live, surely, that is to know pain.
each heart that beats, bleeds all the same.
wisdom is sadness, and jolly rich with hidden grief
and sadness knocks us down while we stare in disbelief.
why must we hurt so much? why is there pain?
the joys are too brief, and this disease has no name.
silent, and still, truth lies beneath us there.
are we so human, dispassionate and bare?
we are human. grief is our sole right,
so, let us not go blindly into this frozen night.
another man screams in pain
another lies dying.
another one shows up, so why should we keep trying?
that just happens. the sick, the sad, always we are with
so, what is it worth? -- the kin, and the kith.
we believe in our own myth, and fool ourselves away,
but understand that we must go, like every second of every day,
to a place in mind, a plot, a purpose yet believed or seen
into our heaven, where the grass is more green.
wherever the common human disease, the one we know as pain
is no more unpleasant than the light, summer rain.
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