They played that song at your funeral.
The one of that old man who died in both heaven and hell.
He was a dropout,
A beaten boy with no taste of fun.
So when he died,
He vowed to have as much fun as he could.
I.
On Earth, he cried at the fire that consumed a tiny village,
And all that was left was debris and bones.
He went to the King of Ash,
Eating up all that he could.
Banished, he traveled to the nomad's land,
Taking up all that he could.
He was slaughtered,
Enslaved,
Beaten half to death,
Then he held an ax to his poor little head.
II.
In Hell, he met Satan,
Who admired his work.
Gave him a special treatment,
Implying that he got what one couldn't.
But the old man sat, alone to drink up all that he saw,
And beat up any demon that he could.
Once word came out,
The devil drove a spear down his throat,
Impaling him in an open red field,
Eventually banishing him to the world of God.
III.
In heaven, the old man breathed at last,
Taking in the beauty he saw in his view.
He believed this was great,
Never committing an evil deed.
But ol' Father; creator of all that lives,
Hated the man with all of his heart.
So he made the man an immortal,
Capable of feeling all pain bestowed.
The angels beat him up,
With all that they could find--
Their harps, their swords, even their trumpets.
Then they left him utterly alone.
IV.
The old withered man couldn't take it all,
He breathed so hard that his lungs collapsed.
If anyone could give him mercy,
It was no longer God.
He cannot see light,
Or fall into the dark.
He cannot walk at all,
As he endured so much pain.
Having been to hell and back,
Taking all that he saw.
He falls on the ground,
Feeling strangely relaxed.
And this is the story of the poor old man,
Who wanted more fun than one could withstand.
He was bold, yet cowardly and took way too much.
If you hear his song,
You can hear him cry, "Oh, Alas..."
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"The universe kissed the stars, who birthed a galaxy of new beginnings." The only way to express beautiful and cynical thoughts is through the delightful invention of simple, and yet complex, poetry. My poems never end, have no defined theme and st...
