Afterlife

I wonder what happens to us

 

When the blood no longer courses through our veins,

When we eternally close our eyes to the light and color and beauty of this world

Maybe we're transported to another dimension in time or maybe our souls escape us, floating towards the heavens in an invisible smoke. Those pearly gates, a concept that cannot be scientifically proven, a feel-better device used when someone we love is ripped from the earth and our hearts. But how can we be so sure to dismiss it? I hope my grandfather dwells there,  and not behind the finality of the cold marble wall l I place my hand against when I visit him, an intangible distance between us. I want so much to believe that he is just above me somewhere, drinking the blessed air, the tinkling melody of the Angels' harps coursing through him, the occasional beating of wings, the only sounds he has to hear. An epitome of power, grace, tranquility. But of this I have no evidence, so I whisper a prayer, unsure if it's ever heard,  walk slowly back to my car, hesitant turn the key  contemplating the fleetingness of life in a place of overwhelming grief. 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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