I stand on the edge of eternity:
a door opens, and I look back at the universe,
which sparkles and throbs with life
I know I must not touch
the angel at the door
of creation
If I do, I will have to go on
into the realm of angels,
but back there in the coruscating night
people are calling to me
I still belong
in that crazy fairground
I do not know why,
or how I can help,
or what I have done so far
I reached out,
but no-one responded
I like the look of the angel
at the door of creation, and
the angel smiles at me
I do not touch him:
all I want is beauty,
or is it holiness?
I do not touch the angel
I look again at eternity:
the nurse comes
to give me painkillers