Noisy Sundays

by Chris Rozik


Heaven,
Seems too bright for me.
The white clouds, the angels, the trumpets,
Seems a bit much to wake up to.
Especially, on a Sunday.
And if St.Peter is God’s bouncer,
For eternity,
By now he’s the patron saint of judgmental tough guys.

Heaven,
God’s big mansion,
Six star suite in the sky,
I get it,
It’s the best.
But when I die,
Please,
just let me rest.

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