The streets are made of golden glass
A maxim for the spoken mass
The hats of men arranged on pikes,
for greetings at an open mic.
St. Peter sparks a lovely talk
With angels on their midday walk
Where spatial reason holds no weight
And racial treason has no state—
And morning, noon, and night is light
And night no longer bears a sight.
The sun then takes a needed seat
For light from God exceeds replete.
We wash away our human face
And bathe in holy woven grace
Dispatch such ideologies
Removed much animosities—
Where expiry is all but purged
And diaries of love, but words
Each moment drenched in utter bliss,
shown with a monarch’s fluttered kiss.
Temporal wishes fade away
The mornings made of still allay
In free discourse, we state our minds
With intellect and traits entwined.
No pedestals for champs to stand
Equality, the stamp, the brand
As bygone mentors come for tea,
With past cohorts we’ve longed to see.
In sated hearts swelled ill with love
Now eye to eye with God above
So much to say we hardly speak
The bond attained has sharply peaked
We rap about creation’s end
The moment when elation mends
And hours seem to disappear
The winds all filled with balladeers
In sweet sensations goes the day
No petals felled from rose’s spray.
The moments filled with more no mores
And keys to fit each floor and door
Come through the gates of narrow pass
Between the blades of greener grass
For wide the gates where ruin lies
And dark the nights of ashen skies
So many flock the other way
But gates this slender will not fray
So enter into Paradise
where all salute your sacrifice.