High above the celestial sea

On branches of a floating tree,

Lies the secret all men strive

To understand before they die.

And down below on solid ground,

The world still spinning round and round,

Where complacency is one’s only sin

All good workers die within.

They lose sight of what they sought,

When days were long and sun was hot.

Parading through their short-long lives

Like little bees in their hives.

“Push tomorrow behind today,

Eventually, there’ll be time to play”

Said the young with conviction,

Preparing for life-long crucifixion.

As days grow short and nights grow thin,

They look upon their fallen kin.

And pray they’ve lived for a different cause,

But wasted is as wasted was.

They forgot the things they knew so well,

Before their lives were but a shell.

And as time flowed like sheets of rain

Their days sunk down the drain.

Only now do they remember a tree,

It’s trunk unplanted, its branches free

Floating aimless above the sky,

The world seated in its eye.

On this bare and ancient oak,

Something burns that makes no smoke.

Fiery runes as bright as stars

Etched in deep like scars.

With sore bones and tired eyes,

They look up toward the skies,

And wholly by chance,

Pay the tree a final glance.

Tranquil and omniscient, the oak floats above,

And decides to grace the dying men with love.

The burning runes now read clear as day.

Here is what they say:

“I may grant no more tomorrows,

You spend them in a blaze.

And while remedying yesterdays, you forsake todays.”

“Look around, feel the ground, you’re about to close your eyes.

But this is not the ending, you’re to join me in the skies.”

“We’ll set sail for the stars and float through the sea.

And when there’s time to play we’ll play, just you and me.”