Entryway to heaven
07/23 2020
The entryway to heaven is a gate made out of thorns
Making a print out of its shadow on your back
As the door to the first bar closes behind you
Through the sultry air the vision grows dimmer
Your face grows more unknown
The mother with an empty stroller
Goes shadowless in the streets at noon
Like pennies are to spare change,
Her thoughts feel like zeroes in a binary world
On the floor of the supermarket
Lies a discarded apple from some place around the world
Some children look curiously at the decomposed fruit
That fell to the ground one Paradise ago
The king of unclaimed art museums
Shouts down the avenue of what he was allowed to see
He writes in his free time as a hobby
But it grew larger, ti'll there was nothing else
To ever hope to talk about
The entryway is somewhere down the road
In the dark shadows of the opposite
That you ever could hope to be
Search for the meaning in the city
With no discernible roads