This is not a Lullaby
I’ve kept your communications
and erased the error of mine,
a crow carries them in his beak,
away, away, like your soul flew.
Is the weather to your liking?
I’ve heard Purgatory is a bit like Miami,
hot, steamy, late August and hurricanes,
do they ease your mind like hiding in the bathroom?
Charon cannot decide whether you’re East or West,
North, South, or straight down in the pit,
God has left the building and still, you have these burning desires,
He’ll see you’ve gone up the road without Him.
And how is your cooking? Is your oven on?
That’s the way, fast asleep, a nice rump roast
and the singe of hair, that smoky hue you’ve always wanted,
where there’s no smoke, the fire in your eyes goes out
Charon -- Alexander Adam