Archived: Cold Heaven :: Samantha Cooley   



Like a veil,

With a sheer, shining edge,

Covers the sky floor. Soaked in sunlight,

The satin unfurls to the far reaches of my eyes breadth.

Glittering sparkling, warmed by the light, the satin gracefully sits.

What should be a translucent gauze, reveals itself as a crocheted lace –

too thick to be seen plain.

These ribbon clouds rise,

then fall,

like the evening tides; pale pink dipped

in a sweet orange glaze. The periwinkle fog  

                                 misses the sun and softly alights on the brighter colors,


and fades deep into

  the Indigo backdrop.

For one brief instant, they are ablaze.

The Infinite Throne Room of God.

Inanimate made to come alive,

Jewels of topaz dancing across the smooth gentle curves.

Statues struck

with purpose,

                                                                               on fire,

reflecting the passion of

                                their anticipated lover, their pursuer, their craftsman.

Pillars of dew become sequins!

They intermingle with the sky

and climb upwards,

growing out from the misty floor.


In only a few silent moments, ribbons are cut, the diamonds are ash, the fire that warmed the palace and set its sterile stone aflame has smoldered out and the embers die on the barrier of glass; the sky is black and we are on the other side of cold heaven. Here is the ground is eerily bright, beckoning, brimming with hovering orbs of colorless dreams. Blinking across the land from the lowest places up to the shallow start of the distant, icy mountains; otherworldly blues, greens, and tans glow, pop, blink, and flash, standing their ground. They are dull. Lifeless. Distant aliens beckoning travelers to “come here and never leave”. They are solemnly watching and bearing witness, judging our fall from grace, the turbulent slide into where we belong, or as our captain calls it: our descent into San Jose.