A Field Too Far

You have walked too far
and the fields here are foreign.
There are no familiar markers to guide you.

The fog is thick and yellow, alien,
and yet, somehow comforting,
a warm confusion, bright with promise

of tales yet to be told,
of stories survived for the telling by familiar fires.
There is no reason to hurry.

There is nothing to flee.
There are no lovers waiting by the hearth at home,
just this intimate place of light, a glimpse

of heaven’s gate that will evaporate as the day rises
and leave you smiling, sure of heaven,
for you have glimpsed it in this perfect moment of wandering.

About this poem

I am convinced we don’t have to die to experience heaven. It comes in fleeting moments, a foretaste of what could be. Too often though, we are too busy to see them, and so we are left wondering if it exists.

It does. I am sure of it.

Tom