Tell me that life is not beautiful and

I will bid you farewell, because

You have no idea of heaven or

The heights from which man fell.

I do not expect to hear a whistle or

A symphony or a bell, but

It must all be music to my ears because

There is forever silence in hell.

While, strange is the mixture,

In our waking hours,

Each one to the other

We tell.

2016.01.05.1838 ©