by Jake C., 16
There is Heaven on Earth.
It isn’t a divine place,
filled with holy spirits and never-ending feasts.
It isn’t high in the sky,
locked behind those pearly white gates.
It is at the kitchen counter
at 10 p.m. on a random Tuesday
humming along to my dad’s old cassette tapes
while my mom delicately peels oranges for us to share.
It is along the river bank
on a warm spring morning
watching the hummingbirds dance
In the light of the ever-flowing water
as it shimmers in the rising sun
while the world slowly opens its tired eyes.
It is riding the crowded subway,
listening to a struggling artist gently pluck his guitar,
playing the melody of the universe despite it all,
while other passengers sing songs that meld into the cosmic hum.
Each voice has a unique essence of life.
Each voice shines with its own sparkle of humanity.
I do not long for Heaven after death,
for my Heaven has always been around me.
Marlboro, New Jersey
Bridge Ink 