Was I Ever Even Here? Poem by Mark Heathcote

God will speak to me on another level.
When I am dead, the words encased
On shelves on meter-on-meter-thick walls
Will devour me for a change.
The locked doors to my soul will be unlocked,
And I will fall through the quicksand of this life.
Without holding my breath.
It is then God will speak to me in a hushed whisper.
It is then the sounds of the entire universe
Shall be singing in one voice.
It is then a delirium of dancing shall spill over.
From the shadows; a dervish kaleidoscope
Of white pages will be like a spinning vortex,
Some already written, some already -wrote,
But on the whole, the bulk of them
Within me will be laughing, truly centred
For the first time, asking if that was all she wrote. '
And then finally, with all my questions answered,
I will then disappear.
Like a puff of magician's gunpowder smoke
Into God's right ear. Questioning,
Like all good fictional lovers do,
Was I ever even here?