no map to heaven

a little space for thought in the clear light
no matter what we want we have to choose
either to struggle or else to refuse
and fall unmourned into eternal night
each ship that sets forth from the friendly bight
is one more chance we have to win or lose
to cheer the outcome or sink into blues
the words are black the paper's always white
there are strange ports that we reach in a life
through ordinary time but not plain space
where answers given are not always heard
promising increase or relief from strife
while pointing ever to a resting place
where all the power is but a simple word