Like Hell

heaven, escaping hell,
over the Earth;
from which we came,
our moment of birth;
to imagine, reality,
beautiful to see;
love, growing now,
becoming a part of me;
understanding reason,
changing the rest;
loving every season,
feel my hands within your chest;
like hellishly wet dreams,
inside you pray;
wishing beyond what it seems,
that this is your last day;
from some body, to your body,
only you alone, can attone;
like I do, like Pontious Pilate,
do wash your hands, or you won't be able,
to find your way home.

by Michael Walkerjohn

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