And there will be white lights,
A faint song calling
Through the illustrious luminescence.
I’ll hold my breath as they try
To revive my listless body,
My soul all too eager to follow
The angels of ancestors passed departed.
I’ll be lifted by clouds of memories
That shape my broken past,
My hand neatly waving ‘bye’
Down to the ground.
Those gathered ’round me
Scream and cry at my stubborn
Resistance to their violent machines
Trying to blow breath back
Into my unwanted figure.
Oh but I am alive! I’ve never felt better.
No orgasm compares to this
Swift, uplifting flight through that of Heaven’s gate.
No high or pain relieves
The dread of that façade
They dare call living. I call it: living hell.
It’s time to start anew.
If there is reincarnation,
If there is haunting,
Then you’ll be sure to see me
In your coffee every morning,
In your dreams each night.
I’m happy here,
Please do not call upon me to return.
What is meant to be shall be.
By, Wanjira Longauer