A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Sunday, May 29, 2022

keep out of hell

People who slap God across the face 
in the name of human judgment 
and then turn around and burn 
themselves forever in hellfire
have
done fucked up 

Right? 
I mean 

They did it without thinking, 
I bet. 

That 
was pretty stupid, guys. Didn't 
you see the sign? It said judge 
yourself asshole! Go judge 
in a lake! Or something. 

The thing I don't understand is, 
what if its a fiery lake? Man 
if a lake's on fire, that's some 
unnatural shit right there. I say 
if God did it, God did it to be 
nasty in a sense. Like maybe 
just to take a place and make 
the whole place nasty. Right? 

What better way could you 
devise? I mean lakes are 
super nice otherwise, 
typically. Nothing like 
a big pile of water just 
sitting there in a mountain 
bowl, with upside-down 
treetops reaching down 
into its shimmering piece 
of stolen sky? Hell, 

if there's going to be any 
lakes at all, better set 'em 
on fire! Otherwise we'd
all jump in, cool off! Nice 

day for it? 

It's off-brand for a purpose
divine, bank on it. What purpose?
Oh, I don't know, such as: maybe
that's why a lot of us try to keep 

out of hell? 

Who says hell don't make no 
sense! It obviously makes the 
first worst sense in the world:
keep out. DON'T

GO
THERE.
Oh, but your bold-ass rationalist
free-thunk spelunking explorers
in mind all had to go there, didn't
they? Always making 

fun 
of 
how
dumb 

hell is.
Well, makes sense to me 
to keep out of it! 

I don't care to barge in on
arguments where burden of proof
entails a noble end of knowing, and
a lethal means to find out. I say nope,
no,
oh no that's
okay - you decide on that one!
I'll just 

be over here, doot-di-doo, 

minding my business 
like a salvation champ 
of all time, grieving, 
praying for the damned 
on the sly (probably not 
supposed to, but - who's 
it hurt?). Thoughts and 
prayers, all my peeps 

in hell. What the hell, 
though. Yeah,

something about that whole 
place smells wrong. It's 
the brimstone.

Maybe. 

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