The Mad Poet Get's His Wings

The other night I had a dream
Having lived my life as a straight man
Trapped in a homophobe's body
I found this dream at first to be more
Than just a little bit disturbing
You see, I was lying on my death bed of cheese puffs and chips
Occasionally reaching for and taking
Another sip or an even more sustaining drink
From a long neck bottle of warm imported beer
When into my head popped this image so vividly clear
Of a little boy who was maybe ten years old
With chocolate skin that shinned like gold in my room's
Low lumen energy saving incandescent light
His tiny frail body clothed in only a breech cloth
His long curly sun touched brown hair
Felt soft as a baby's butt....to my shaking hands
This boy kept trying to lay next to me
Reaching out with both loving arms and a loving heart
Hugging my illness and disease
As if he himself were a leper
Never speaking yet always smiling
He hugged me tightly and I felt the power compel me
Opening my mouth I expelled the darkness
Which for seven years now has had safe harbor in my soul
And I wept with a blessed, wonderful and pure joy
For the first time in my long and tortured life....
The next day I did testify to all who would listen
About the power of God's dream for me....
A mad poet without a home in which to dwell
Had been welcomed to come and stay with him....
I just hope they have better poets in heaven....

2007 © T Sheridan

by Ted Sheridan

Comments (1)

As Angie said sweetheart. Of course, when you get there, there will be better poets in heaven. t xxxxxxxxxxxxxx