The aetherial overworld is torrid and smoking-
all the places you’ve been and all that you’ve sinned,
just another ring
The divine comedy
You walked on shattered glass,
having been told,
the fragments would cut your feet
Took off your shoes,
to feel their release
and let yourself bleed
Searing your soles on a bed of coal
Do you think that the dead dwell amid bounding elysian fields in the sky?
Sail through beatific cosmos and recount days of the inferno?
Are liberated by the end of elaborate plans and illimitable demands, existing for eons of zion as we will when we finally meet our time?
Or will we be nothing more than stardust on the other side?