It was a dreary day when they discontinued heaven,
a day of bleakness and broken plights
there were no feathers lying in the white marble halls,
no blood staining the grand audience room
or the entrance hall of serene bliss.
A single note on the pearly gates
illustrated the change,
Peter was gone and the gates open
divine as always, pearly white and shining
and open to all who would enter.
One word was scribbled,
“discontinued” it said,
and he wondered if English was the main language in heaven
or if the note was always in the readers tongue.
It didn’t really matter.
Where would he go now?
Was there a certain place in hell for him?
(For surely hell was better
than the apparently empty spaces of heaven?)
Or was hell discontinued as well?
He found himself almost hoping,
against everything he’d been taught,
that there would still be demons, imps
and tortured souls in the depth of their despair.
Because what would otherwise be,
the fate of one simple soul,
who lived and died to atone?
Who walks the realm of the afterlife
unknowing and alone.
It was a dreary day, the day he died,
the single soul of the afterlife,
meant for heaven but he searched in hell,
his hope soon far expelled.
The sign stood tall, unpleasantly blunt,
“Abandon all hope all ye who enter” it said,
but someone had scribbled with black, fat chalk,
above the old text; “keep your hope”,
“gone fishing” was written below,
and “abandoned” was written in big letters,
over the aged message.
He stood by the sign for a long time,
hours, weeks, months or years,
it didn’t matter in the eternity,
deciding if better to first check out the serene halls of heaven
or the dreadfulness of hell.
In the end he moved forward,
past the ancient sign.
His mood was dreary,
but he kept his hope.
The hope that the chance
that someone had been left behind
was bigger in hell
than it was in heaven.