Missing Beatific Visions
Where are those kaleidoscopic rainbows?
Where are those immaculately white clouds?
Have those seraphs who constantly compose
'Glory to God' has been lost in cloud shrouds?
Thrones made of precious stones are seen no more.
Where are those souls washed by the blood of Christ?
Shouldn't each saint sing, dance, praise, and adore?
Isn't there, between heaven and earth, a tryst?
I miss the gold arcades and silver stairs.
Where are the upward-winding promenades?
Finding me standing with eyes full of tears
An angel spoke to me thus from the shades:
"You haven't lost, child, the heavenly mirth.
The heavens have now come down to the earth."
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