The outside looks pretty,
but what of inside?
That's what determines:
we live, we die.

Appearances, humble,
but what of inside?
The lightness of being?
The burden of pride?

The surface does shimmer,
who guesses the depths?
Daily increasing?
Diminishing, less?

The sun was bright;
the skies were blue.
And everything
was fresh and new.

But now the diamonds
that Heaven made.
Somewhat less precious,
turned to jade.

If Hell has depths
as Heaven is tall,
the height we ascend
is how deep we fall.