Heaven

This is where I hope to end,
in a place of peace
with green cliffs overlooking blue seas,
that disappear into endless horizons,
where storms and fog, though they come
are passing follies,
held back by eternal truths
far more ancient, far more true
than pain, and life
returns again and again
to eternal June,
green, lush and sunlit,
the light sparkling on the waves,
sparkling forever
on your soul.

About this poem

There are two places in this word that sing to me more than any other. One is Venice Italy. The other is Tintagle, England. (Pictured above). For me, either is a vision of heaven, even though they are totally different.

Tintagle sings to me because it is the legendary birthplace of King Arthur, and the castle ruins are evocative of history and mystery that are part and parcel of life. On, and there there is Merlin’s cave. But mostly there are green cliffs and azure seas. Except of course for when there is blanketing fog, or angry storms.

Tom