Poem:

We speak of a heaven

After we’re gone,

Or a hell of damnation,

Second to none;

Forget not they are here

While we stick around –

A heaven and hell

To which we’re bound,

Where the sinner it seems

Is touched with the paint

That should be reserved

For the mortified saint;

Where children of love

Can but hardly wait

To attain their legitimate

Heavenly state;

Where the brute force of evil

In its heaven on earth

Appears to be guaranteed

Freedom of mirth.

The stairway to heaven

Is right here to stay,

Or the slide down to hell,

Whichever is the way.

Not until we are dead

We may know it but well

Of the ultimate heaven

And the ultimate hell.