PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The New Job.

I found myself sitting at a large desk in front of me was a lever. I had just to give my verdict and pull the lever towards me or away from me. Easy enough job, one would think. It is not quite so simple as that what I am judging is a white substance sealed in a what looks like a plastic bag. This is a plastic that one cannot open not with a knife or any other machine. What is  the substance. The substance is the brain and the soul of a person that once lived on earth. My job it either to condem this white substance or send it on to heaven. Nothing about the face or character. This is purely my own opinion and no one may or can alter my sentence no matter what they do.

Do not come looking for me even if you should by a trilliarden attempts finally get to me. It would do you no good whatsoever. This is not a building Ihave no idea where I am I could even be in your brain. No one knows. The same as no one knows how many of us are doing this work. Are we many or am I alone responsible whether you get into heaven or hell? No I am not serving some kind of punishment. I was for my period on earth just an ordinary man doing a hum drum job that was neither interesting or even boring it was one of those jobs that someone must do. If you ask me whether this new job of mine interests me. All I can say at the moment is that my hand on the lever sometimes aches through the pushing it forwards and then backwards. There are no special hours to do this work. I find myself at my desk with my lever or at home resting. I have no reports to write. No head Office to report to. Just a job. I am not allowed to see what kind of life the person before me in the plastic bag has led. I am not allowed to smell. My brain has been got at. I do not think about my work. I smell nothing what my eyes are supposed to see I have no idea at all. In fact this job that I am now doing a trained ape could do the same. My right arm reached forward took the sheet of paper that had appeared in front of me. A pen was notw in my hand and I watched my hand writing that which I had just thought about. A trained monkey could do my work. I could be released for other work. Important work. Work where one‘s brains could and must be used.

Once again my whatever it was called moved to a huge room I found myself now armed with a shovel my new job was to shovel the plastic brain and souls down a shute. The heat coming from the shute told me that where-ever I was shovelling these brain souls to it was mighty hot. It had to happen my shovel caught two of the white substances. I threw and the shovel stuck to my hand and with the weight of the white substance i went down the chute into the heat.

I went through the heat and for a brief moment i heard myself cry. I heard a voice saying congratulations Mrs. Grasckot You have given birth to s fine young boy. The first words I heard and I have remembered them all of these years. My time is coming soon and I find myself wondering what work will they find me to do before I am reborn again into this world we call the Earth A few words of Berns scribble please let me know if you too can remember your very early time of birth even better if you remember what your work was before coming back to this world as a baby.