Tag Archive | life after death

Pillar Performer

TheMagicRealist.com

For my last day on earth I shall hang by the face
To a branch that is sturdy, yet tender and new.
To spring forth and perform natural acts is pure bliss.
I don’t take life’s meal lightly; no leaf I’ll dismiss.
I convert all to protein as fast as I chew.
Though I’m slow and deliberate, I run a fast race.

I’ve a lifetime to ponder and munch as I go
Automatic and focused on fattening fill.
In a multi ring circus no tent could contain
I’m an expert already and don’t have to train
For the feats I will die for. I do have free will
To remain from the spotlight. I steal no one’s show.

My death would come quickly if I became prey
In the beak of some dinosaur with a sharp eye.
Our act would end smartly, by nature’s demand.
Those who strive toward the big top will well understand
That the show must go on even though creatures die
And replace one another throughout nature’s Day.

Backfire

TheMagicRealist.com

When a Fire gets going, what’s there to be done?
The first thing might be: Get the Hell out of Dodge.
But a fire can move at the speed of a thought.
It’s ignited by anyone feeling distraught.
One could end up a guest in some rogue fuselage!
Does it make any sense, then, to call 911?

One may speak of the first bomb – that bursting in air,
And the horror it rained by the dawn’s early light.
Some powerful whoop ass did cause earth to cower.
Who’d have thought that mankind could have wielded such power?
The big war was won, yet things just don’t seem right.
We now spew whoop ass worthiness instead of prayer.

The fire that burns from the will of the heart
Is the same in the atom that makes of the flesh
A carnal aroma – cooked meat in the air,
And mass devastation and death everywhere,
As memory filters through smoke laden mesh,
And consciousness struggles to make a new start.

We do call ourselves righteous and let others know
That we don’t take a beating then run away pissed.
We have enough nukes we could blow up the moon!
If and when all world leaders will reach that point soon,
There’s potential for Fireworks… Hard to resist.
And the earth will survive us, as once long ago.

Vetting Spree

TheMagicRealist.com

Hasn’t anyone heard of a Vetting Spree?
Aren’t you bored with just shopping and watching TV?
A few troubled nations are helping us some.
What’s the matter with others?  Our best blessings come
When we’re aiding our fellows cast out like debris.
A great moat has evolved of the vast, raging sea.

We’d applaud the world media drowning you all
With our plight, had we free hands and some air to spare.
Perhaps no one knows what a drowning is like
But the will to survive, unlike riding a bike,
Will consume the soul wholly.  Does anyone care?
It is much like a lynching designed to enthrall.

I am better than seaweed and now it’s just me.
My family and friends have all drifted beyond.
Lungs are salt water packages shipped Next Day Air
From a world left behind in a pit of despair
To another one where no one needs to respond.
I’m worth vetting, then letting my humbled self be.

The Point Not Taken

TheMagicRealist.com

Two separate beings converged into one,
I stand astonished.  Which choice is clear to me?
My one self sees that its life someday is done.
My broader self knows that all has just begun.
I’m a soul in a briefcase hand carried most casually.

Though born to wonder… to share what I feel,
Sometimes I wander; I’m lost along the way.
To know what is not just as well as what is real
Is to know that one may have something to reveal.
But to share it, indeed, I’ll put off for another day.

I know by now that I’ve been here before
At this same juncture.  The sign before my face
Now reads rather oddly as life does at its core.
The next time around, will I even up the score?
The true self knows every journey is one of grace.

Wellbeing knows all who travel aground.
The signs are plenty and placed along each way.
If I just yield, then my bounty will abound.
I’ll know my worth, and I’ll speak without a sound.
Perhaps then some may hear what I have to say.

Homegoing

TheMagicRelist.com

We don’t call them funerals and haven’t since when…
Our departed are happy as we should all be.
Life’s a woe upon blessing and grace mixed with pain.
Their time dwelt among us… Our loss is God’s gain.
We believe that all people will someday be free
When we dwell in the home of Our Father again.

We are ‘home’ on this earth for a brief little while.
We are made of the earth as the gingerbread shack
In a made believe land where sharp contrast abounds
With the purest of music and God awful sounds.
We have faith in our Lord and know He has our back.
When we leave this dear earth we will do it in style.

The service is much for us, and that we know.
When we cheer our freed loved ones whom now have moved on
We moan and we wail from the pit of our hearts.
There’s no stammering, stuttering, stares or false starts.
Living deep in our souls it still seems that they’re gone.
Our tradition has changed little since long ago.

Engaging the Bang

Engaging the Bang

It’s a bang up job Someone’s doing out there
And quite Big, one might add just because it is so.
So who am I, then, to get bent out of shape
Over little stuff making me act like an ape?
But, perhaps I am one. That is something to know.
That’s because evolution’s a bit of a scare.

The Bang is the thing that becomes all of now
So long ago all that remains is a glow.
But it’s not an explosion occurred in one space.
Everywhere, all at once, became time within place!
The stream of creation continues to flow.
The quest without quibble’s to figure just how.

But, I’m not Dr. Tyson. I’m just an old man
Whose parallel path didn’t reach the same goal.
Accomplishments scarce, I have no one to blame.
In the years that remain, I reflect just the same.
There’s a dampening voice in the pit of my soul.
To go out with a bang is not what is at hand.

Farewell, Judge Soprano

TheMagicRealist.com

A justice departed, seems moments ago
What with all that can happen within a short time.
I am someone whom you would have treated unfair.
Your body not cold, yet debate’s in the air.
Your replacement’s the issue; so is it a crime
That a nigger selects one amid present woe?

I am sure that by now you don’t care what goes on
With the sculpture you’ve carved of this thing called the law.
There’s a thing about justice one must understand:
There is office for everyone – even the klan
In a nation so free that it sticks its own craw.
I will learn to look past you before I am gone.

My disgust, now, is only with mankind – not you
I disliked you, dear justice, but now that you’re gone
As politics scavenges fruits of your passing
And as arguments for and against are amassing
The prayer is the hope that we dare to move on.
Released from this world, now, you have broader view.

Just Terrified of the Life Review

Just Terrified of the Life Review

I do not fear not being for how would I know
That I can’t know a thing – not even not being?
With no recall of life having ever been lived
All the deeds that we’re doing must then be forgiv’d.
Nonexistence is futile. There’s no disagreeing
Unless not to be is a good way to grow.

I do not mind dying, and I might as well not
Since death is a thing that will happen to us all.
I would much rather go in my sleep just the same.
To perish in a mishap would carry no blame.
If by sickness its quickness will strengthen its call
But it’s not that I think about death quite a lot.

No, not even the afterlife worries me none
If there is a place where we can all reunite.
The only thing that consumes me with terror
Are acts I committed while living in error
All displayed before me in the brightest of light.
I’m remorseful for some of the things that I’ve done.

Doubting Thomas

TheMagicRealist.com

Yo, Thomas, get in here! Don’t chill in the yard.
I’ve something intended for your doubting ass.
I know well why you’re out there. It’s obvious, dude.
You’re a skeptic. Get over it, and don’t be so rude.
If I ran a Christ school you’d be ass of the class.
Stick your hand in my side, and don’t think very hard.

Why my Father made you so Dad blasted thick
Is a mystery still. I must ask Him some day,
Hey Dad, if you make a man dumber than dirt,
Does he always become, then, a doubting expert?”
Perhaps not worth asking… I will anyway.
My love for you, bro, is more solid than brick.

When I told your behind I would rise from the dead
Did you think I was smoking some weirded out wick?
My Lord and my God,” you say there on your knees.
I can see your believing’s no act to appease…
Well, Tom, that’s terrific; don’t lay it on thick.
We don’t do Shakespeare. We do gospel instead.