The Kingdom of Heaven

When I was a lonely boy,
I would sit on the stairway
that led to the door of my house
and look to the stars, high
above, wondering,
could there really be an
all—powerful anything?

The little book
under my bed, despite the
tape that held it together,
would tell me “yes" —
but what else could it say?

My dreams would speak to me
with memories of a forgotten past,
trying to correct that lie,
but it was not until
I was older,
with sixteen years on my back,
when a professor of mine,
world-worn and gray,
spoke to me of religion,
of holy words,
and of Carl Jung, who said,
"The dream shows the inner truth
and reality as it is.”

That day I realized:
If the child within me
could still not believe in a pre-constructed god,
then perhaps
I would have to look for my own answers.