Belonging (Art)
I think Heaven must be still, Beyond the sickness, past the ill; No heavy mind, no restless fear, No pain that follows year to year.
No shame left buried in the bone, No soul condemned to walk alone; Just quiet light, untouched by grief, And finally, a kind relief.
Perhaps that's why the world feels far,
Like someone watching from afar;
Because my heart, though living yet,
Already longs where saints have met.
