When We Were There

When We Were There

When we were there,

alive, though hardly, in that badly-lit

and crooked hall,

which led us down the steps

to death,

did not the world seem a useless idol

broken beyond repair?

But now we are here,

in the tabernacle of this bright

and sweet asylum,

which cradles us warm

into life,

the world seems a god who brings the sun

into being every morning.

The whereabouts of that old place,

lie hidden behind a wall,

no, a heavy veil,

marking the boundary

between hell

and earth,

between the dark and the bright –

and all who die and all who live.