Paradise

Forsaken far and furthermore below the jet stream
A place from which Saint Anne can only dream
Eyes shut and fists closed in anticipation of resurrection
Believing only then will she find her sense of perfection

I thrust a hand through the frostbit barrier of ice,
Clenching the outer rim, I pray for bits of paradise.

Her eyes opened and she reached back out.
In surprise I retracted my arm filled with doubt.
For the time all at once, the world turned to me.
Eyes from all directions stared me down silently.

At once I remembered the opposite of love isn't hate.
And I know that you are addicted to the perceived fate.

A cesspool of memories that were ever so forgotten by the fool,
Instead used as a weight for training the ability to keep one's cool.
Unable, unwilling for dishonorable shortcuts to fate's plan, I walked astray.
I will decide then to earn my paradise some other how -- some other way.