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Poem
Time is your only friend,
That stays with you from beginning to end.
An immortal guide for your immortal life,
On this very short little ride.

From the womb to the tomb,
Just a short put to doom.
Spanning the years,
Flames fanning our fears.

The Reaper’s
A grim keeper.
With his blithe scythe he reaps what he sows.
So don’t be a sound sleeper,
Or you’ll be a weeper,
For a long lifetime you’ll never know.

Time is not on your side.
He never walks or rides.
He’s always on the fly.
Don’t let him pass you by.

With time as your friend,
You don’t need enemies.
He’s not your buddy or pal, chum in the end.
He’s not your comrade or mate,
To share your fate.
He’s not any of these.

Time is expensive.
There is no free ride.
Time is expansive.
Way beyond your size.

If you meet the ferryman,
Standing on the river Styx’s edge,
He’s waiting for payment and,
It’s not the Reaper you thank in the end.

Make sure you have the price of fare,
Or the cost will be very dear.
So, don’t pay him a penny,
Until the other side you see.

Time is a fickle traveler,
A wicked unraveler.
A sickened babbler.
For a nickel he’ll bang his gavel there,
And sell you to the lowest bidder.
With him you’re not the highest winner,
Whether you be a saint or a sinner.
He’ll even sell you to a pickled barreler.
(That’s a cooper, for anyone my poem has put in a stupor.)

The slave trade is alive and well,
Amongst the hoards of hell.
You can thank legion,
For the death in this region.
It’s twelve o’clock midnight and all is not well…

Join the Ghost Dance of death,
Make the most of your last breath.
Your host is the god Seth,
The toast of Egypt when the sun sets in the west.

We don’t need no pyramid,
To find the fear in him.
It will be amid,
The vodka, beer and gin.

Will God save us on Earth?
Will He judge what we’re?
Or are we doomed from birth,
To and unforgiven death and dearth?

Our body is cemetery bound,
Or sent to the cremator.
But is our soul Homeward bound,
To live forever with the Creator?

Are we destined to lie in a stark grave?
Predestined to die in the dark unsaved?
In a tomb unmarked on a road unpaved?
Tended to by a caretaker depraved...

Who will be witness for us?
Jesus resurrected Lazarus.
Will we be more than just a carcass?
Are we just worm food turning to dust?

Soon we’ll see what fate God has in store for us,
As the Arc Angels play jazz on their trumpets.
Dying is easy, living is hard and hazardous.
What lies beyond, what Houses of Glory has He for us?
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