CATAPULT ME INTO THE UNIVERSE

CATAPULT ME INTO THE UNIVERSE

Mount my coffin high on the horses.

Send away the procession and the stone coal black hearse.

Lay down the violin with its golden strings.

I'm ready to fly and spreading my wings,

Fire off the cannons, catapult me into the universe.

Years ago when I walked the earth,

Tasted its nectar and felt its deep worth.

I breathed in all the flowers,

Spent many sweet hours,

Rolling in the grasses,

Drinking red wine from rose colored glasses.

Traversing the sands of many fine lands,

Had me a companion and a house in the sticks,

Had a guitar, played mediocre licks,

Had an old black dog who bathed my face each day,

The joy with which he greeted me infectious in its way.

But now that I'm gone, to that land beyond the dawn,

I hope to make my presence felt beyond the veil of tears.

I'm ancient as the sea and as a poignant as the atmosphere.

Now are days where I scale the clouds,

Counsel troubled spirits, teach their hearts to sing,

Now are quiet hours with a peace that passes understanding.

Now the sweet taste of nectar and ambrosia is my feast,

No more the sailor on the sea of salty brine, no more tango with the beast.

Now are precious moments of bloodless forms, vague outlines.

Now are times when I recognize God's higher purpose and design.

My doubting days are over, like Thomas I have felt the wounds,

The bloody holes in hands and feet.

Nothing there to deny or impugn,

The glory of redemption sweet.

Send me away in the firelight, into the caverns of the spirit's night.
Send away the mourners with their blazing torches.
Liberate me from the body and its chill that sweats and scorches.
Liberate me from disease that leaves me pleading on my knees.
Recite a few comforting rhymes, to lift me slowly out of time. 
Say one long lasting fond farewell, toast me with your holy wine
Then fire the cannons as rehearsed, catapult me into the universe.

Mount my coffin high on the horses,

Send away the mourners, ripping garments at the seams.

I will mount the white stallion,

Ride the fiery chariot to the realm of heaven's dream.

Wait 'til the tears subside, until the last church bell has sounded.

Spread the word until all have heard,

Death is only a brittle word,

A word twisting ghoulishly in the land of the grounded.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2013

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED