Had I not seen people come out of it, I would’ve never guessed heaven was behind that sharp right turn.
There is nothing exceedingly beautiful about it, the meadow is ok-sized and surrounded by suburban working-class housing,
Yet its humbleness is nothing short of astounding.
After miles and miles of towering greenery, this shy piece of land extends its hand and guides me through a relief I have only felt with breathing.
Which makes me wonder, how can the grand finale be so life-like, so fertile?
Aside from the roundabout cross, nothing else reeks of the ascetic qualities I’d imagined for this last showdown.
Maybe the poets had it wrong.
Caught up in a dream of tyrannical stillness, they never saw or bothered to write of a reasonable Eden,
Of an ending as undramatic as is common living.
And I’ve been stumbling ever since, every day a different thing
To get me through this unlawful queue till the day when all is right
When I, had I been looking, could have just made that sharp turn right.

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