Will I be drawn down to rivers of pus and molten brass, to hell forever?
Will I be born in heaven blessed with peace, and shade, and wealth, forever?
I dream of drawing near to the boundary of the pure lote tree.
In my sleep I have seen the rivers where saints and angels dwell, forever.
Yet within the day putrid white heat beats my mind and heart with a raging pollution.
Sleep sodden I strain to transcend a life placed down as an exile, forever.
My polluted body rises toward revelation away from words of anger.
fear of Your condemnation calls for the call to a higher level, forever.
The vulture soars and wobbles the sky, a constant sign of grace.
But even that perfect flight cannot the sun's advance repel, forever.
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