Of Heaven And Hell
Heaven is up there, they say,
by Ballerina With Fins
where your mother and father float around
with luminous halos and dappled wings.
And hell is beneath, black and treacherous,
fiery and evil, right below your feet.
But where above? And where below?
Death inched towards us everywhere,
her blanket of darkness descending
and ascending, creeping and suffocating.
Under my shoes, a deep black void?
Or mantle and lava? Hell is questionable.
The sky merely smiled softly, she alluded heaven,
but the earth was still stubbornly round.