If I am not gifted heaven
by the gate-keeping gods
who scorn all disbelief,
then may at least one of them
allow me a region in their Purgatory
to indulge my soul in unexplored sins:
There I can wallow in impulsive hatred,
fruitless envy and righteous distain.
There I can brag of my hypocrisy
while playing on the hopes and fears of others
for glories all my own.
And then may the true believers above,
who passed through those restrictive gates,
look down on me and be reassured,
that orthodoxy matters more than virtues.
— by Sabio Lantz, 10/2022
This poem was inspired by a poem by the same name written by the American-Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz (1911-2004) written around 2000. Below I copy its opening:
IF
– Czeslw Milosz
If I cannot ascent to Paradise —
clearly those circles are too high for me —
I would like to spend time in one of the regions of Purgatory
gaining liberation from the phantoms of my mind,
whose power, though I never trusted it completely,
I remember very well. …
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