(no subject)

[proximoception]

"Ten steps divide the ignorant from heaven."
But why ten, master, ten and not eleven?
And is not each a heaven in itself?
And who's to say which level's floor, which shelf?
And heaven's what if heaven leaves us out?
And heaven's what if there is room for doubt?
And if it's something offered and not ours,
God's, not our wishes', are its hidden bowers,
Is such a heaven really heaven yet,
Or just as close to one as we can get?
And if our every breath or act's a bend
Along the road with heaven at its end,
Where, once arrived, once through the ten-locked door,
We're in and of just heaven, and no more
A part of where or who we were before,
What was the point of starting us apart?
Or were we plucked from out of heaven's heart?
And what if, once in heaven, we want hell?
And who am I to ask or you to tell?
"Those were the ten, my brother. Go. Be well."