Where In Hell Is Heaven? Poem by RIC BASTASA

if i judge him and tell him that his life is wasted
on those beds with all the kinds of women
and drugs

what have i made of myself then?

another equal another push to another equal pull
i must be best in the form of my silence

if i tell myself that i am happier with all the white vests
of my self-imposed restraints of moral codes and
ethical considerations

what must i have possibly impressed upon you?

that i can be another listed name in the roll of liars
of those who have embraced the messianic sickness?

we are in this same, old, rotten world
and i am trying to imagine a garden of roses, a clear pond
a set of trees, a line of bushes, some rays of pure light

we all still ask the same question: where in hell is heaven?