heave me into your heaven.

I do not think the heaven above could obnubilate the beauty of your shelter. It is just simply substantial and beautiful. I want to be thrown into your shelter. It can weather the storms and warm me in the winter. Your shelter is more than just a protective embrace. It is such a constructive element to me. I want to be in your shelter; the shelter that could last in all disasters. I would not be wet when rain comes. I would not be drowned when flood rages. I would not be burnt when thunders strike. I would not collapse when earth shakes. I would not freeze when blizzard forms. I would not desiccate when drought occurs. I can not wait to be in your shelter. All the nice food, the pleasant, seraphic butler, the robust custodians, the picturesque maids, all of them, though seem like statues, loyally serve you in your shelter. Your shelter is love in all forms. It just gives love to everyone, or shall I say, everything; even the lonely, old nighthawks outside your shelter could feel loved. There is something about your shelter. It just never fails to invite me in. I want to be in your shelter. Take my hand and bring me in. Drag me if you want to. Scourge me if I happen to refuse. I want to be in your shelter. Heave me to one of its corners. Heave me.