People Get Ready

Is Heaven just the gorge of appetite,
like winning lotteries three times each day?
Perhaps six dozen virgins sounds just right,
or customizing paradise to fit
discriminating clients, is the best way
the pre-departed plan to croak and quit.

Winged angels playing harps while haloes gleam,
reclining on white clouds, incorporates
cliche depictions of a Christian dream.
Such paradise, favors it's guest with seating
on the right side of God, while reprobates
squirm below, one presumes, each day repeating.

So sad to massacre these rosy pix
of coming times, but you, are hardly worth
a trip to Shangri-la, until you fix
the clusterfuck of vices wreaking whack
on ethics and emotions on your Earth,
and you steer for a conscious, loving track.

Real knowledge of an afterlife is nil,
and all of those with half a brain propound,
'That Hell and Heaven are right here.' Until
we own and fix the mess we've made of things,
and make a stand defending holy ground,
we're dead, no matter where our fortune swings.