[Click the picture above to hear music performed by the author.]

I dreamt I went to Heaven

And beheld a work of art,

A child's drawing of a heart.

And through the wound

That Cupid's arrow pierced

In voices fresh and unrehearsed

A choir of sistren, brethren swooned.

"Is this God?" I wondered 'loud,

"A mask of the Divine?"

"No, the Love within our breasts's,

The same that beats in thine.

We, no immortal Spirits be,

Fleet in skies above,

But a congress of the wounded,

Hearts struck down by love.

"It's we who fill the emptiness,

The barren leagues of space,

The souls of forlorn lovers

Are all that give life grace."

"No! Speak to me more, Great Heart,

Of Spirits fine and fair!"

"No Spirits save the loving way

You stroke and pet her hair.

If you'd have gods,

Then find them there."