I walk the streets of gold
Arriving weary, worn, aged, old
Wrinkles burrowed deep – having seen much of sin
Years of sunrises and sunsets ’til eyesight fades dim.
Outside the mansions skipping bright like a rose
An innocent in white, a child whose soft dress flows:
“Aged elder, welcome!” she cries with delight
She’s one who died young, vivid fresh sight.
Cheeks flushed and brow crisp
Light hair curling,falling in wisps:
“Tell me your story, victorious hero!”
Plump fists cushion dimples chin
Sparkly irises big round O.
I sigh and open my lips
I speak of bullies and navy ships
Of weddings on a beach, of divorce and loss
Of childbirths and car accidents, bad business deals and steep costs
Of church services and epic baptisms
And family fights and deep schisms
The good, the evil, the harmful, the joy
My life was full, typical, nothing different than any man or boy.
Yet sure of my safe wisdom I poured out my life
Sure she was lacking, couldn’t imagine school, getting elderly, having a wife.
With rapt attention she shone, twinkled a smile
And thanked me for sharing my legacy all the while.
I turned, smug,and casually asked
Did you pass early on? Childhood illness, no meficine, some crash?
But her answer froze my legs to ice
My heart quailed, I gasped twice.
With a knowing smile of Christ-redeemed pain
She touched my shoulder and turned gaze to the Lamb who was slain:
“He saved me, though I’m not as interesting, I fear.
My mother had me violently dismembered in second trimester, my dear.”