THE HEAVEN OF BAD DEEDS

Stories untold and unheard
In Places left undiscovered, forgotten,
Covered in sand dunes and gun powder;
Faces frozen midway between expressions of everyday existence
Stories built in reality intended to be the history of
Days yet to have sunrises and years of sunsets
Now lost with the historian who sleeps with so many stories before him
Maybe they continue to live their tale in a parallel world much like ours,
Where they can sense the breeze caress their skin
Feelings snatched and turned numb in their nerves now
While they sleep in segments under bits of earth, concrete and metal
Maybe they sought and found the light at the end of the tunnel
The heaven that was promised from high pulpits for the suffering and the innocent
Maybe they live in flowering avenues on soft grass and under a sky
Where they can see shooting stars and not rockets of fire
Threatening any moment to make course to end their existence
Maybe as they sit now in silence
The boom and the searing of shrapnel is forgotten
And wounds don’t bleed anymore and scars are forgotten.
Even in life as they struggled without tarrying
They were the ordinaries of the outskirts
Owning only what was paltry
Maybe now when they sleep at night
Their appetites are sated and dreams that visit them at night are not sprites
Of ancestors accusing them of sins they did not commit and wars they did not cause
Maybe they dream instead of pure spirits born free and uncorrupted,
That take them through beauty in lands not yet imagined or created
Maybe we can wish these things and hope someday we can
Look into those eyes which would then be alive again
And find within them our own salvation for the things we did not do
For all we did not rise to stop
That surge of fire, the trigger for which should never have been released
The closed doors behind which their destinies were sealed
Which should have been broken down and rent to nothingness before the first words were spoken
The seed which grew to this destruction
This transaction of pain that won no glory
Certainly not for those who fell
Because there was no cause they wanted to win with such sacrifice and bloodshed
No wealth they would have bought over their children’s fluttering hearts that now,
Lie silent and stopped as though time itself left their side like a traitor
Maybe, indeed, in all justice and for the sake of rightness
These lost stories still live
Their expressions released from their frozen state
And laugh or cry or feel at least something
And know that they will see another year turn its cycle of seasons
All this in their heaven of bad deeds

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