The Death of an Illusion

I once heard my mother say that heaven isn’t really so far away but recently
somethings changed in me and I know this will kill her but I’ll have to
disagree
Because I’ve grown tired of the stained-glass and ceiling tiles,
prescription pills and the blind faith trials. It’s genocide in a different
style
I won’t ask for forgiveness. I won’t ask for forgiveness. I’m no longer afraid
Because I’ve found faith in myself and the people I love. Not through
medication or forgiveness from above. Left in the dark with no divine light.
Only helping hands and my own will to fight
With experience we unearth the roots to grow. At one point in time our rope
ends or unwinds and leaves your mind tangled and closed. Role searching,
it’s what defeats and mangles most. But what keeps your heart soul surfing
lends to living on as ghosts
Maybe we’re not all living in hell but we’ve been conditioned to live in a
prison cell. Hide me from whatever concept this instills or hang me from the
rafters of this people mill
Death is an architect. It’s shaping days and taking names through heart attacks
and common disconnects
And at least I can say I’ll be ready for it