Stars of the Afterlife

if dying is anything like vagal nerve fainting
how bad can it be - my mind blurs
consciousness contracts
into a
tiny
white
spot

but
death
itself
opens in
some vast unknown space
where prophets and philosophers
assure us that our feelings and fears will still matter

if
we
have no
memories
of mountain ranges
that drops of water brushed away
before we were born – how could death itself be any
more painful–the atheist left
us in an odd but
comforting
open
bright
void

to
the
gong of
a brass bowl
sculpting the silence
the bald monk in the saffron robe
begs for rice and enlightenment neither of which are
vital – with an infinity
of lives perfection
is just a
matter
of
time

of
course
you have
no recall
for god created
your immortal soul at your birth
heed my catechism and you will suffer great joy
the kindly christian counseled us
but step on a sin
forever
you'll rot
in
hell

she
lights
incense
cuts her deck
into arcanas
tells us we have been here before
the pagan priestess promises more lessons to learn
i only wish i could recall
knocks from prior lives
already
she claims
i
know

i
get
allah
only is
god but he still needs
scads of angels to scoop each soul
painfully from its body – pass judgment on its faith
apply punishment of the grave
he won't let one soul
fade away
into
the
dark

when a soul with whom i used to wander laugh and buzz
drifts off to leave a withered husk
it takes its feelings
and leaves me
with my
own
loss