This Heaven

It could be heaven for the disillusioned,

the walled fortress in all its might,

where coloured rivers flow,

and flying is easy over the limited sky.

It could be that heaven, where

nothing happens, where feelings are bottled

in a green cask, with secret messages

and thrown out into the sea,

hoping a wayward stranger will find them.

Centuries may pass for the gates to open,

but the disillusioned will wait,

till immortality, for that perfect speck of gold

beyond the darkened moon.

It's easy to think you're in heaven,

if you live like mortals, grasping

every truth for a dream,

knowing you have very little time.

These are the people who surrender

and change, knowing not what heaven means.

That's not what the disillusioned want.

The disillusioned live immortal and proud,

not beckoning, not craving,

they wait for the stars they know they'll find,

beyond the walls someday, when they break

without promises, without bulldozers in sight.

That's all it'll take, a single moment in eternity,

but till then, this is heaven for the disillusioned,

the vision of the beauty that lies beyond all.

Even hell is heaven for those who wait.

(Inspired by Bertolt Brecht's 'Heaven for the Disllusioned'. Written in response to a question thrown, 'How long will you wait?')