To my Doorstep Visitor

...and so you are off, to heaven I see!
(the Christian's hegira of virtue and glee)
and I with a word to the Lord may attain
the salvation you speak of, the balm for my pain.

But we've spoken already, this Spirit and I,
and I'll have to inform you, his realm doesn't lie
above fuzzy clouds, or out past the sun,
much closer, in fact--the one you would shun

for his fuzzy religion you can't understand,
keeps his creed undefined, his demeanor quite bland.
There's a curtain of silence and awe when he prays
and he doesn't much care who might scoff, or who stays.

So I'll not deride you, though I covet some power
to love you more dearly, hour by hour
when compassion is missing, but never conceit
and passion is that which you save for the street.

What madness, this heaven of feathers and wings,
of harps, pricey yellow brick roads and such things!
What journey or dream could you possibly share
with one like myself, who is already there?
~