A man who’s bad with goodbyes
Farewell speeches and toasts
For his post mortem suicide
He oughtn’t to leave a note

For a strong man dies but twice
Fighting spirits and ghosts
He gives up not without pride
Like a lion, he gets to gloat.

Maybe he gets to paradise
Or to hell with his boasts
Of life well lived, yet dyed
To a colour far remote

Delight might be a disguise
A fireplace but without roasts
To the flesh, and what we hide
Under our dear sheepskin coat

“House-arrests” swee’ishly suffice
“Stuck-home” syndrome for most
The captor here, is a loving guide
Every excess needs an anti-dote

Claims his one book tells no lies
Spreads the message pillar-to-post
I haven’t quite read them all to decide
Should I use my herd to think – like a goat?

Once in a while I give a “piss off” advice:
Karma’s a beach; but afterlife’s the coast.
Judgment comes for all like a drowning tide
And there’s no tested means of keeping afloat.

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