I am God, and here is my fuzzy-felt utopia.
You can stick angels anywhere you like
and play the free CD of heavenly music
whilst you do so. It won’t hurt will it?
I bumped into a person from a past-life
as I deposited my coat in the cloakroom.
He was just as surprised as I was, you
never expect to catch up with yourself
when away from home. But there he was,
still as tall and lank as ever; I might
cut out a cardboard silhouette and let him
into heaven. I have to choose between
that or sending him to cup-cake hell.
What was I thinking? A palace for the dead
is such a waste of time, they are not
good company. They pass through fire,
revisit the beginning and end of time
then settle down in the corner for
their never ending life. I’d prefer
to stretch my legs, go visit distant stars.
© Rupert M Loydell