THE MELANCOLY OF ENLIGHTENMENT

Someday you won't need this happiness
someday all this glory
that you stash away
in safe boxes
under soap boxes
will seem like a shrine
to someone else's prime
And where will all your honey be
when you strain to recall
a faint image of me?
A fragile friend less mortal
than ideas ought to be
barely worthy of a shadow
across your enlightened soul
who only knew that if heaven
is reserved for the sinless,
then it's nowhere I would want to be