Heavens

I didn't have anyone
To tell me this,
As a child I never heard
That dying would take you to the heavens,
To that place between the stars
In your rightful place in the cosmos.
My father, a storyteller,
Had no stories of the heavens.
And for me, the night sky
Was a boring black with
Uneven spots of unstable lights.
But I looked up, I have no clue when,
And saw that most that spots are stars.
Stars like the sun, bigger than the sun
And a million times bright.
Gases crushed by their own weight,
Boiling beyond vapor,
Turning themselves into another
And the night sky into a Van Gogh dream.
My dreams take me there,
And my imagination is my fuel.
But just not any kind of imagination,
The one with respect to the grandeur of truth.

They lead me to the skies...
And they lead me away from death.