When age and all its dried up masters
have finally caught up with you,
though you're not ready for disasters,
'is this seat ta...how do you do? '
You wake up early in your bed,
another day's translucent wings.
The very next day finds you dead,
(they say it's one of those damned things) .

And, on the way to your Valhallah
you get a glimpse of afterlife.
You hope that either God or Allah
will be more lenient than your wife.

At last you see the Pearly Gates,
they have your rap-sheet with all entries,
you wonder if they do debates,
instead, are taken by two sentries
straight to a break inside a cloud,
where padded stairs, marked by a bell
start their descent. A well-endowed
olive skinned angel, straight from Hell
now takes your hand and you just follow.

And soon you enter a dark cave,
you think and find it hard to swallow
that you are here. But to be brave
is what you've learned and do admire.
You figure that this stark damnation,
with sulphur smell and constant fire
is better than annihilation.

That's what they mean by 'finite, ' friend,
when you got nothing, zilch, null, nada,
and when you're finished it's the end:
You lose the bloomin' enchilada.

The moral of the story is
for one, if you do not quite measure
up to the standards that are HIS
be warned, St. Peter's greatest pleasure
is to add up all of your sins
and that includes the smallest lies
meanwhile, in Hell the devil grins,
they kick you out of Paradise.
Deep in your heart though you do know
that it is better to be hot
and watch the Bloody Brimstone Show
than to be not, than to be not.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-be-proud/