Another Miserable Poem

As the last light of day strikes the earth,

I imagine, vividly, arriving at the gates of dawn

In some fancy funeral hearse.

 

There God stands, beacons me toward him;

With a lowered head, a downward gaze,

I waddle with thoughts bare but grim.

 

He says “Ah, the long-lost son!

Where hath you scurried?

 

“Ah, the chosen one!

We were all so worried.”

 

There God stares down with light like sunbeams

As I shiver cold,

He rises, realizes too,

 

Nothing is quite as it seems.

 

After some pause, some pause long enough

For mountains to decay like logs in swamps,

For peach-fuzz hairs to turn to scruff,

A voice between the hills

Echoes bouncing from lake to sky, sky to lake,

From broken hearts to broken necks,

From broke accounts to bounced checks,

Saying blindly, repeatedly like a mountain widow

“a life lost is a cost, a life lost is a cost, a life lost…”

 

In my head thinking,

In my body retreating,

I say half-audible, half-soft-spoken

This life is a joke,

Your words are no token

 

But it was the devil softly speaking,

It was the sins so loud piercing

Which the thinking shattered,

The thinking that anything actually mattered.

 

As the last light of day strikes the earth,

I imagine, vividly, arriving at the gates of dawn

In some fancy funeral hearse.

 

I look both ways,

A fool to care to cross the street,

I walk, strut, with heavy feet

I imagine arriving in a funeral hearse;

I haven’t died, still alive,

Whichever’s worse!

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