Upon a Chariot

Asks my little boy, "Can I read your words?"
"Yes."  He does not know how to read.  Old notebooks, journals, on the floor.  He carries them under his arm, hands one to my wife.  I say, "That was my first journal."
     "It's cute."  She flips to the middle.  Quiet for a moment.  Now, "You should put this poem on your blog."
     "Which one?"
     "Here."
     "I wrote that six years ago."
     "And?"

Upon a chariot,
I ride there,
The Place of Eternal Spring,
On the outskirts of the City
Of New Ideas,
Closer to the Creator.

Upon a chariot,
Commanded by Angels,
I ride there,
The Place of Infinite Relation,
In earshot of the Temple
Of Contemplation,
Closer to the Giver of Life.

Upon a chariot,
Commanded by Angels,
To the Seventh Dimension,
I ride there,
The Place devoid of time and question,
Down the river from where
Moses and Elijah drink,
Closer to Perfection.

Upon a chariot,
I ride to Elysian Fields.