Serenity may come: I do not doubt
that death unbinds the burdens we must bear
when we discover Heaven (thereabouts)
we are relieved of misery and care,
anxiety that winds through atria
dissolve to dust — the scars will fade to naught
and all the world’s woes — lust, patria, —
release the rotten suckers that they caught
and healing comes, awash in perfect light.
The damage is undone, rot chased away.
Though it may seem unlikely, all’s aright;
this hope exists beyond the bloody day.
And though we beg release, our spirits yearn,
once rested from their labor, to return.