A Portrait of Heaven, in Rose

A Year of Sonnets — 059/365

Photo by Alex Read on Unsplash

They say that God will greet us when we leave
our burdens back aside the rainbow gate
regardless of the stories we believe:
we slip our iron bones, expatriate
beyond the breath of mourning, every light
wrought silver, sanctified against the taint
we carry to the gate: unending fight
abandoned. Every mortal made a saint,
for blinding scales shall fall from twisted eyes,
even the monsters crawl on bloody knees,
and healing comes: they learn and realize,
the weregilds settled, Justice is appeased.
And there they dwell, forever and a day
in peace and plenty, all, at last, okay.