She hardly could conceptualise
without the evidence of her eyes,
the touted, much praised, paradise
that haunted all her childhood dreams,
had taken up so many reams,
so many books that burst their seams
with images; an imagined place
the faithful wanted to embrace
before it vanished without trace.
How could it vanish? Some might say,
'surely it is here to stay,
our place assured, although the way's
so potholed with each vice and sin
you wonder how you can begin
to recognise the door marked In.'
So she decided to forget her
wonderings of the Begetter;
further musing might upset her.
Respecting, though, the people who,
through faith, believed it all was true,
whose happiness was like a glue
that bound together broken hearts,
the sum much greater than the parts;
unlike the knave who stole the tarts
she left them basking in their bliss,
feeling it would be remiss
to share with them her deep abyss.