After life may be a torrent storm,

Or a retina burning light,

There may be a raging fiery pit,

Or demons trapped in night.

I truly know not of after death,

Whether you kick, scream, or cry,

Whether you are burned, tormented, buried low,

Or live again so you forever die.

Perhaps a place of the grandest golden gates,

Where birds of white fly high,

Yet as the pain and sorrow wash away

So does what it means to feel alive.

Away from these thoughts of after death,

A place hidden from God’s eye,

Lies a quiet void called nothingness,

Where the Devil goes to die.

The tree of life springs only in summer,

It’s leaves only fall in winter

Life persists, while limited,

By death, the timber’s splinter.

You had your joy, you watched the clock,

Feeding the hourglass into your fun

As you face the crow, what do you fear the most

A painful existence, or none?

You’ve seen the inevitable of closing ears,

When your mind falls to the floor

While you run against the reaper’s blade,

You ask, “What’s this running for?”

So as you meet the afterlife,

Ask him what he goes by

He may be a horror and bliss called nothingness,

Where the Devil hopes to die.