Thinking Hereafter

I shall go weary with a fight, Into that strange and ever night, Across the bounds of thistle-thorns, To dance a jig neath golden horns; Perchance, I breathe a sulfured air, For earning less than heaven’s fair, I’ll take my place within the blaze, To gladly boil away my days; Or if I’m sat upon a shelf, Betwixt to ponder soul and self, Account my earthly deeds, to sum, Those Righteous, those righteous none; I’ll build myself an abacus, With bones and teeth, I’ll never miss; Who really knows the consequence, Of living life upon the fence, None dead I know have come to me, And said with any certainty, To nail myself upon a cross, Be born again, or join a Mosque; Religion seems just gobbledygook, I’m right, you’re wrong, in countless books, Demons, devils, angels singing, The pit, with pendulum swinging; If I were God, I’d give a peek, Let children see what life can wreak, Pull the wool over sneaky Nick; The devil has his share of tricks; But who am I to say these things; I’ve spent my life in selfish dreams, Just because my bell has tolled, And each breath I take is soured old, Doesn’t lend me a hedge to bet, What lies beyond my mortal death; Too late, I haven’t seemed to grasp, What formula to ever last; Worst, I’ll be but seeping silage, Left for bugs and worms to pillage, Or, perhaps a greater power, Will intervene at my last hour; In either case, upon that night, I shall go weary with a fight.