Confessions of an Optimistic Pessimist

The pastor’s daughter
Once said that
Heaven
Is a childhood home
Where loved ones await
your return.
I pray that
When I close my eyes
For all eternity
I may open them
As a child,
Crawling into my mother’s lap
Resting my head against her chest,
Just beneath her chin.
Quietly, listening to
Her heart steadily beat
As she combs her slender
Fingers through my long, brown hair.
I dont want to fall into
Oblivion.
God, please
Let me fall asleep
Cradled in love.
Untouched
By hardship.