I dream of death,

Sometimes I plead,

To take me from,

My daily toil.

What is the fate,

That waits for me,

Once I have left,

This earthly coil.

Is it heaven,

Or is it hell,

Or is it somewhere,

Nobody has foreseen.

Surely we must go round,

More than once,

On a never-ending spiral,

Of birth, life and death.

I believe we start,

At the fourth of seven rings,

And each time we die,

Are advanced or promoted.

To be advanced one level,

Is to have done well in life,

But to be demoted,

Is to be found wanting.

The word 'well' does not mean,

To have found abundant wealth,

But to have helped where needed,

Our fellow man.

To be found wanting also,

Does not mean a life of crime,

But rather a life spent,

In thinking only of oneself.

Which wheel are you on now,

And where will you end,

It's still not too late,

To change this life's trend!

Copyright May 1997 - John Casey