Amongst the Cherubs— poem

The older I get the more I feel
the appeal of heaven

I don’t like the changes
I can’t stand the rain
I hate my family
I hate the pain

When will the morning come, at the call of my cry
Hearing all that it took for me
to get here
standing among chubby-cheeked cherubs

I don’t dance, sing, and feel freedom
There is only the constant need to fight
and I am tired of fighting
to the dismay of the martyrs, I am sorry

but a world where those who step on skulls
and were lucky at the draw of conception
is not a world
that was meant for me.

When will I sleep amongst the cherubs?
and feel the bliss that I see
the gayness and their daint
that flutters at their feet?

I want to join the dead
who have, I fear,
much more wisdom than the living

I want to sleep among the cherubs
and welcome the hug of the wind along my waist
to carry me along the sunny meadows
with the wisdom of the dead —
who I know,
know how to love
better than the living.