Serious death poem: Death is death. Death

Serious death poem: Death is death. Death is sad. Death is bad.

Death is the point where the circle ends and then begins again. Death is the starting gate of eternity. A gun is fired to start a race so that the previous moment is killed.

I passed from the moment of life to the moment of death in a blink. My new life was filled with hours of harp playing. This quickly bored me & I headed out to see what else being a

right? No returns, refunds, or exchanges." "Sure, whatever. Just get me out of here. I can't take another minute of this damn harp music." I hopped on the Underworld Express

wondering the oddity of having harp music in hell. Well, he was nothing but a mere mortal, and woe betide he who questions the whims and foibles of Gods. So thinking, he

decided to bring house music to Hell. Harp music was just not dance-able. I crafted speakers from discarded pitchforks and electric eels and attempted to access the wi-fi, "Butts."

The garbage man sitting next to me despised the politically correct term "sanitation engineer". I agreed it was nonsensical. Variations on that were equally absurd. This world was

so messed up, we also agreed. We agreed on a lot of things that night...&the next...& the next. Yeah, that's right. I fell for the garbage man, hard. He didn't mind that I was a

Life long member of the John Birch Society as well as a Fortian and a Sub-Genius.