My heart tells me where I will live
when life is done. I am so tired.
My pain transects what I must give,
it keeps my sanity unwired.

I have a mansion saved for me.
He promised me, He gave His word.
I do not know what kind ’twill be,
but made of gold is what I heard.

I use my mansion even now –
it helps me bear my troubling pain.
I know you’re wondering just how –
’cause I’m not dead, what’s there to gain?

Sometimes when sleep won’t come – ’tis rare,
I picture how my mansion’s done.
I move things here and put things there,
my mind lets go and sleep will come.

My pain sometimes rates at a ‘ten’
when silent screams make breathing hard.
Reality then starts to end
and all good thoughts are very marred.

That’s when my mansion comes in view,
I close my eyes, my pain subsides.
Now listen to just what I do –
I picture where I will abide.

I concentrate on what I see –
each room, each treasure in its spot.
I try to let my mind run free
and rearrange all things I’ve got.

My mind moves each with tender care,
I clean each spot as harsh pain looms,
move one thing here, throw something there.
I picture what’s in every room.

I shove the feel of pain aside,
replace it with each move I make –
remodeling … my pain’s my guide.
My mind tricks pain for my own sake.

If pain’s at ‘two’ I sit and read,
but as the pain takes its control,
and on my mind it starts to feed,
remodeling becomes my goal.

© 2019, Barb Henson. All rights reserved.

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