PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A holy man, whose sayings I like,

proclaimed that the Cosmos respects all those

who are bold in advance thinking,

who are unbound by traditions and customs,

which are merely the rules of exploitation

imposed by earlier, less successful generations.

So I put much thought into my ritual,

taking its parts from many other sources---

like Old Possum's great poem,  The Waste Land

(I particularly liked the part he called "What The Thunder Said").

Many other sources indeed:

I culled my ritua's components from Ancient Egypt,

and all the civilizations henceforth,

right up to last week's news.

Then, the other night, I stepped out into the worst

thunderstorm on record for these parts,

because the Cosmos respected those

who are bold in advance thinking.

And the thunderclap right above me exploded,

so that I could not longer hear;

and a bolt of lightening sought and struck me down,

flinging my soul from the body it had murdered,

because the Cosmos really does not give a good damn,

and I had been pathetically misinformed.

And before I could present my complaint to the Cosmos;

through no will of my own, I was thrust into this place

of relentless torture by fire and the gnashing of teeth,

where tongues that can no longer cry out

are gnawed upon by teeth in desperate pain,

and my accustomed hot air blows

through my throat that is blistered and parched

in this place where Someone I have never known---

Someone who outranks even the Cosmos---

does, most certainly, give a permanent damn,

and, alas, has given it to me.

Starward