Friday dreams

I dreamed: I raced up stairs to heaven.
Slipped on a banana peel,
Plunged like stone to fields where thornbush
Broken lies. Fell midst the crosses.

Suddenly I hear: "You ran too fast!
Crossroads wait 'tween every story,
Think: to heaven, or straight to fire?
Don't believe? Your call, my man."

Try to open eyes, I struggle.
Grope for crosses, grasp with hands to rise,
And shout. Lips mute as water...
My whisper — like a thousand years of silence.

"Hey, You there, beyond heaven's doorway!
Thought I had words meant for Your ear.
Know for sure — tomorrow comes,
If I don't have to die today.

Forgive me, didn't mean to beat on heaven
So loud. Again to blame
Those Friday dreams — cross at my feet, thornbush sharp.
Absurd, but dreams don't let you choose.

Look, we're here — a field entire,
Crowded close. Again we claw Your heaven.
Can't embrace us all, You don't recall.
Absurd, but somehow we've grown still.

Hey, You there, beyond heaven's doorway!
Thought I had words meant for Your ear.
Know one thing — tomorrow comes,
If I don't have to die today."

Woke: behind the curtain's edge
Saw a scrap of sky so small.
Hugged my loved ones.
Through the window crept a ray of light
With new day's dawn,
And I — will chase its glow.

Hear thunder past the sky's rim
Lash like whip above earth's ridge?
That's me again who failed to reach
With Friday night to heaven's ledge.