Hell is a place where laughter swells
orienting toward combustible bells
torrents of artesian wells, disrupted.
And after the host inhales the fumes,
memories seared with beautiful plumes,
rest in Oxford ties about the neck, encrusted.
The Devil arrives carrying a well worn deck.
“Draw a card,” he delightfully dares,
a twinkle in his eye as our draw prepares...
to take from his hand, seeing no other choice.
Pray for the Joker so we can rejoice...
Yes, life goes on, the tics abound,
clocks and stocks rewound and rebound...
And we light a cigar, fat and sweet,
only to have it put out on the souls of our feet.
Integrity and love and Trust is preached.
The whistle blows as the starting line is reached.
We run side by side in our little slots,
contemplating betrayal the most horrendous of plots.
Never mind the folks who laid their bets on us.
Imprisoned in the stands, it is in our finishing, they trust.
And while we glare at the rabbit, all the while resenting
There in the stands our loved ones presenting...
Trust in us to finish the race,
with a full heart and a measure of grace.
See, we were not chosen, no we volunteered,
so toward a better Destiny this ship could be steered.
