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04/27/10 - (1)
Bosoms
In the end, the earthly demise of his mortality, He was to find the beginning of immortal paradise, eternity... Or so he'd been told the afterlife would be, At the time just prior to his transition from living to quietus, When in the holy throes of priestly extreme unction — That vague caesura between being and nonbeing.
And how reassuring it was, at first, To his bones, decomposing flesh, his spirit, flown soul, Believing that his essence was homeward bound, About to be gathered up, in the bosoms of Abraham, Or seated in the shepherding lap of Jesus, In the celestial keeping of the Lord God on almighty high.
Mother Church's fervent promises were afterlife-affirming, Until he realized, on waking from the finite dead, That not one goddamn thing had changed. Life-in-death was the same old nagging and ragging, Just as it had been in his death-in-life, Before his bitchly cunt of a wife died "accidentally."
04/27/10 - (1)
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