"Paradise is Only Skin-Deep"

Paradise.
Some see it as owning a wealthy estate,
equipped with yachts, mansions, private jets, servants,
and every last cable channel known to man.
Some view it as owning both the land and the fat of the land,
cornering every last niche of the stock market,
and then purchasing a few tropical islands
while flying through the neighborhood.
Heaven to this sort is not merely owning a Rolls Royce,
but rather, owning the first one that was ever built,
simply because there's excess bank interest
that needs to be burned.
These people see Paradise as
being able to use hundred-dollar bills as firewood
without regrets.
Then there are those who see Bliss as
getting their Masters Degree and
turning an academic thesis into a Nobel Prize.
Their achievements are their Heaven, shaping and reshaping
the minds of society like heroes and gods shape clay into souls.
For them, it is not enough to be satisfied with loaves and fishes,
for their Paradise indeed resides in the eternal flight of the spirit,
bringing dreams of invention, expression, wisdom and justice to a world
that thirsts for answers and redemption.
Their Joy is to discover the timeless reality
that brings man ever closer to the dreams of his immortal soul.
Theirs is a Heaven of ideas.
But for others,
the quest for Paradise is elusive as dreams deferred.
Some see it as having enough strength
to get through another twelve-hour work-day,
praying that they'll be able to make ends meet
for both themselves and their children.
Sometimes, Heaven is an answered prayer
during one's most desperate hours of need.
Some see Paradise as a three-day weekend
away from that nightmare of a daily commute.
Their idea of making money the old-fashioned way is
winning the Lottery and finally being able to
dump their boss and their sweat-shop job.
Some experience their Heaven when they finally get hired
by the right company.
Paradise means many things to many people.
For some it means not having to worry
about another bomb falling through the roof of their house,
or another round of machine-gun fire shattering their windows,
or another roaming band of soldiers
taking away yet more family relatives at midnight
to be beaten, tortured, raped,
murdered and thrown into unknown mass graves,
never to be seen alive again.
For some it means not having another nightmare
about death-camps, firing squads and gas chambers.
And for others it means overcoming the shackled legacy
of being counted as only three-fifths of a human being
by our country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty.
Was your Paradise ever the same as mine?
I have seen some reduce Heaven to nothing more than
another hit, another toke, another drink.
And for some, that's all there is.
Their idea of Bliss is a fix without a price-tag,
where they don't have to burglarize property or sell their very body
in order to get high all day long. And Paradise becomes
the drug becomes the Paradise they seek, sending them headlong
into the Peril they struggle to avoid.
And the journey to this Fools' Heaven can only end
at the bottom of Hell, on the streets of the forsaken.
Here is where Paradise is seen as a day where
one dumpster actually contains discarded rags that fit,
while another has scraps of food that haven't yet been contaminated.
Heaven is seen as an empty street at night,
with enough bags on the sidewalk to make a pillow,
where one's babbling soul can muster one last shred of sanity
to pray for mercy. Indeed, these lost souls see Paradise as
anything other than this world which has completely forgotten them.
Their fragmented minds see Heaven as both
survival in this world
and escape to the next.
And the derelict prays for the Paradise of Mercy
at the foot of the selfsame mansion
owned by someone who is praying for the Paradise
of more hundred-dollar bills to burn in the fireplace.
Paradise is only skin-deep.


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