To All Misguided Souls

I weep for those tortured and misguided souls Who in waste take pilfered solace from above. And ply a trade in cloddishness to avoid the toll That Death demands with one last final shove. Like some trifling insect aroused to an open flame Stumbling merrily with foolish talk of added life... Where groveling and good attendance gives claim To a childish existence free from want and strife. I go to my death with no such ignorant burbling With the desolation of the grave my only friend. I go now... to a dark place with the vultures circling With no demands on an unloving Universe to expend. Death holds no mystery to those of us untainted By the weekly offerings of those who daily stray. And no amount of prostrating will preserve the sainted With no Angels to voice their serenades. Let a vacuous Universe now embrace this gift Snatching my molecules for selfish inclination. With my mind and withered atoms set adrift... Appeasing the galaxy and bolster some cosmic variation. So betroth to your illusions on this melancholic affair And propitiate a nothingness to haunt your shackled soul. For if there was a God on high who be both just and fair... My Buffalo Bills would have won a Super Bowl.* The End *Some people are mad at God for the silliest reasons. *Follow my cartoon on Webtoon Bob's Your uncle.