Keyhole To Heaven

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I stand on childhood’s

tiptoes and the oxygen

in my lungs is stillborn

in its stall as I peer through

.

the keyhole to heaven;

all is angels’ wings

and perfume and

brightness and I squirm

.

to reach just a sliver higher.

I strain with broken grip

and limping spirit and

if I shift too much the

.

vision fades and the scent

eludes, wisp snatched by

wayward breeze. So I

peer through the keyhole

.

and feel the brush of angels

in flight and linger to

catch the smell of home

before I lower myself

.

to my side of the door,

waiting, ever waiting

for someone to turn

the key.

.

Free

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When ageing tent is laid aside,

my truest bloom will burst from husk

and, far from laws of earthen tide,

my heart won’t fade into the dusk

but blossom strong, by Love’s design,

free of pest and storm’s alarm;

to my best purposes, aligned,

free to flower, free from harm.