Journey of the Soul (a poem)

Journey of the Soul

She said, “I have lots of time to make up my mind
to make peace with God, if indeed I wish to!”
My dear, our souls are butchered from time
(taken out of life). Days or years to Death, is like
plucking feathers out of chicken’s chest…;
thus we must find it quickly, before we lose the
will, the heart, the sound and echoes of our
soul trying to let us know, we belong to God
or the Devil; it’s quite simple, it’s how it is
(we belong to somebody, other than ourselves).
Ah, you want to be anonymous you say, in the
grave? But it doesn’t work that way...
the soul moves on, like the sea, like a restless fire:
it was made, that way, never-ending (unless
it sleeps); and each day we grow older, the odor
of death hangs in the air lower, longer,
like rotten tomatoes, like old rusting nails—
but you are still reaching for tomorrow,
as if you will burst through the dark fog, the
blackened night, just in time to save your soul.
Anonymous you lay, and while in the grave you
discover it’s dry, and the fire under it is high,
and it’s battle season, for Satan and his demon,
they’ve come to fetch your soul…the forever kind:
giant lies, again, and again…! And still you say (at 80):
while even dead, “I have lots of time to make up
my mind, to make peace with God, if indeed I wish to!”

#2332 (3-21-2008)

The Great Inheritance

When I die, bury me far away from my family,
so my kids can’t find me, and jump over the fence;
if they do, they’ll simply sit on my grave and brag,
or get drunk or stoned, chipping away on my
gravestone; tell them to leave me alone, as
they did when I lived. Worthless, worthless kids
caught in a pretense trap, hoping to use me to get out.
If they have any sense tell them to go get drunk,
and start life all over again; that’s their inheritance.

#2331 (3-21-2008)