I Don't Want Heaven If It's Bright All Day (Poem)

Hold my lids apart lest I sleep too soon
before I get a proper chance to play
a brown guitar under the glow-stick moon
as calloused fingers in their own way pray
to God and to this icebox of a world:
the pure pleasure of a drenched night, please grant,
Raindrops prancing off the cool glass like pearls,
Drought's passing-over in holiest chant.
In brightness one sees far too much, it's true;
Dark is fine for glimpsing wet paintbrush stroke.
I'm weary of the sun's marigold hue,
I nestle within midnight's safety cloak.
Show me a dim sky over golden rays --
I don't want Heaven if it's bright all day.

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