Doug Hilton | + Follow Poet |
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A River of Souls

You ran and jumped and played. Your mommy loved and cuddled you. Your father taught you man-things. Your teacher taught you school-things.
You grew up to fill your skeleton- and skin-thing.
You grew up to be yourself.
You met friends and you did friend-things.
You worked and lived and did life-things.

Now your morning coughing lasts a lot longer and you curse the cigarettes of your teen years.
You notice that another day has just started and you somehow know that one less day remains.
Your internal calculus-thing finally tells you that each day is part of an infinitely small part of a series (of days; of friend-things; of good-things; of living-up-to-your-standards-things; of failing-to-do-things-that-you-should-have-done-things...

Today you're old enough to know that the tick of today represents your soul rushing to a river of souls; the universes' calculus-thing slowly eats up the infinitely small series of days; your quota is almost ticked-out (but of course you can't possibly know the limit of your days). And now you hear the rushing river of souls every morning; now you judge yourself every day.

And you are aware that you will be judged at the end-of-time-thing; you will be plucked out of the river of souls and be judged; you will be found wanting or adequate; the rushing river will have one less soul-thing to deal with; the gates of good or evil will open and close once more; your infinite-soul-thing will have its final home.

The river of souls is not very patient: ponder (if you are capable) what you could do today to increase the odds of a good home for your infinite-soul-thing. Today might be the last time you can. Your self-thing needs protecting and you are, ultimately, responsible for the today-, tomorrow- and forever-thing of your own self-thing.  What if you yawn, wake up and do just one good-thing today? A river of souls is awaiting your answer.

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