As I rolled over and read my messages this morning, I saw one from a old bearded man.
Today, if you pray, you may save a moment for Nepal.
If there is a heaven on Earth
For some, it must be a warm glow soaked
Sunday afternoon, without a care
And a hand grasping a grape jelly jar of deep gold bourbon
A scene of rolling hills spread out
And the silence of a Sunday afternoon bourbon
On a hillside in Kentucky.
For others, heaven is a tussle of warm cotton sheets
And the snuggle of a cat that has jumped at a flash
Just a few, too few, not many times.
Together laying there in the silent understanding
Of mutual love, with the road
And the roar somewhere far away,
an infinite journey
to take maybe tomorrow,
maybe some other day.
For a few
From the peaks
of dream mountains,
to the ancient temples below,
Heaven fell today.
Amid a linger of incense and flutter of prayer flags
With those that felt heaven fall, they wander battered streets
To search for the buried and crushed.
Soul spirits that held strong as gunstocks smashed them
Soul spirits that managed a prayer of peace and love.
Hands clasped in solace at the silence of the world outside
And worn smooth by the simplicity of life.
Today heaven fell not by man and marching toy soldiers,
But heaven came down by a restless surge in the earth.
By a rock, a boulder and power of a restless surge.
They will cry and dig and look tonight for a simple place
To watch the prayer flag flutter and the incense curl burn swirls
And sweeten the air they breathe
And find somehow amid their dusty tears, to be thankful
For the living and the dead.
And maybe heaven tonight will be a sip of water and a spoon of rice.