PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Oh, the heights I'll ascend,

the new things I'll behold,

the savoring peace I'll receive,

at long, so very long last...

when finally, I get my wings.



The pains will be vanquished,

all sorrow snuffed out,

all dreams-now awakening realities,

there for the ease of making,

and mine for the simpleness of taking.



Would that I be of celestial angel,

or more of awkward, newborn butterfly?

Just broken free of confining cocoon,

a metaphoric metamorphosis,

with a new lease on afterlife.



Would they be made of finest silks,

gliding through cotton-clothed clouds?

Maybe of lucid, prismatic crystal,

or, of multicolored stained glass-

like that of an old prairie-worn church?



Or would they be of downy feathers,

pristine, immaculate and purified

by the majestic hands of my Heavenly Father?

So unhampered and liberated,

like the new soul now born of my death.



Oh, the contentment yet to come.

The jubilance yet to partake.

The refreshment to yet quench

this parched and arid soul,

when finally, I get my wings.