Marscapone

The stone wall upon which he sits is crumbling, rough and moss covered, but it is home. 
He stares up at the migrating geese, their honks loud and clear in the crisp air. 

When the world is dark, and the stars are out 

My mind comes alive. 

I drown alone in my thoughts with a smile on my face, 

And let myself get lost, 

Because I know I’ll be found. 

I wonder what heaven looks like. I wonder this as an atheist. Is it space, sailing among stars? Is it merely a concept, eternally to be determined, determined by fate?