Hell Poem

November 19, 2008

It’s 7:16pm but it feels much later.  I’m standing in the kitchen with a slice of undercooked pizza in one hand, and a blank look on my face.

This is Hell.

I’ve got a beer and a day old shirt.  I commented on the cold and the delivery man made a snide remark.  He was late, and got the miniscule tip he deserved.  Angry thoughts continue to flow unchecked through my mind.  The pizza was cut unevenly, with some sliver-like pieces.  I’m not even enjoying the beer.

Upstairs is Heaven.

Literally.  Everything will fade: the economy, the cold, the uncertainty, the anger, all of it.  I will sit, breathe, and play the cello.  Handel’s Messiah.  The world will dissolve into nothing and sweet music will fill me in.

This is Hell by comparison, I’ve got heaven in strings just up the stairs.

© 2008

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