Quadratura

 Heaven is a ceiling that grows
 Through landscapes in the mind's eye
 To contemplate all our divine intentions
 Plastered in permanence, unfiltered
 From the shifting vices of Earth.
 Where the megaron strips navigation
 We look to the stars for an answer,
 Absolution in a rococo nebula
 Framed by imagination, trickling tintinnabulation,
 Echoes of bells off the bronze planetarium.
 Skyward we teleport home
 In a basket of deliverance, unfettered
 Cobwebs of illumination conducting
 Orchestral fantasies in the light,
 A radiance to cleanse our atmosphere.
 Soul meets body at the cherished boundary
 Where angels become humans that grow wings,
 Leaking children from the loophole of time,
 Oil streaked burden of gravity unrivaled
 To brighten the path in hymns of creation.