In bookish minds of three young friends,
Who slightly drunk gaze at the stars
And contemplate life, God, and love.
We all look down the empty street,
Wind blows cliché through leaf-bare trees.
Is heaven real? We ask out loud.
I watch his thinking face and laugh.
Still, “Nothing can replace this night.”
There’s something funny in the dark
Finality I yet ignore:
That every moment’s snatched and filched
By time’s tormenting tyrannous rule
And memory can’t capture this,
Imperfect as it always is.
A chilling breeze and far-off noise
Restores my focus back to now,
The dim streetlights and chatting friends
Discussing life and love and God,
And asking me if heaven’s real.
And asking me if heaven’s real.
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