Heaven—A Poem

A place where there’s no war;

Where all men are clean and pure

A land where darkness do not exist

And time, no passage or exit.

Praise is the food eaten;

Full of grace; overflowing.

 

Bright light with no source,

Pitched steadily—not tossed.

Home to all flesh

That have become new, refreshed

By the saving grace of the creator called “God”—

 

Who seem too odd?

Amongst Kings and Lords.

One kingdom divided in seven,

But still called “one heaven”.

Angels in their legions,

Men from their regions;

All in thee

Ye glorious city!