Begin again, dreamer, listen to life
around you and fit it to what you see.
You thought you would be bodiless, but why?
There are limits to the eternal life.
Where are the very old, the very young?
Do you know now, at last, Dante was wrong?
Here the mountains are level with the plains,
only where you climbed you now descend
but not on a road winding down and up.
There is no hell or heaven, nor a leap
of, say, faith, no, it is too late for this
tomfoolery of confessional bliss.
And what of the great ones? Do they suffer
or prosper? And why are they not great here?
(4 December 2011 / I)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander