The Self-Portrait of Heaven

I can see a ghost in the shadow of God.
If were such perfection to be in existence and worshipped, you would be its sole deity.
The ever-bore mark of the tantalization strikes me well and hard.
You can be assured I shall never forget thee.

Whilst life and hardship besets my life, I think of such fruition.
Only one wish is thrown to the heavens and what follows is just a nighttime fantasy.
Wouldn't it be this day a perfect last, and you a perfect beginning?
Fondling your soft embrace... what is there but nothing?

Seeing and being worthily traumatized is all I ask of the heavens.
A truce with my inequity will bear me the foolish assumption that when I wake up, it will be next to you.
I should see to it that when I am in debt
I expect nothing more than tantalization and nothing less than memories.

I am foolish to want thee, of course.
Still, I manage to run into battle without a shield or a sword.
Am I to be harmed due to my over-zealotry and debt?
So be it that I die in such lust.
So be it that I live on;
So be it without you.

Will this temptation acquire the fruits of movement?

I shan't take advantage of the mere portrait Heaven has provided me of itself.
I know that with a brush in hand,
I could do no better.

[Paradise is a fruitless being;
Thou art paradise.]

...You are the self-portrait of heaven.