I’m not ready to live forever,
But the neon sign, glowing cyan, beckons me,
I step up to the door,
JOIN
PARTICIPATE
SHARE
TEACH
CELEBRATE
SORT
Sort? Sort out the good from the bad,
The believers from the non-believers,
or maybe it’s
PORT
Where I will be transported to forever,
The shadow of a palm tree, black against the brick,
Ancient markings above the doorways,
One lamp aglow, one dead,
If both lamps were dead I wouldn’t even see that shadow,
Am I the palm tree? No.
I turn my head to the right to see behind me its pineapple trunk in the dim light,
And then I wonder what I would be in eternity,
Would I remain this meek, pathetic creature?
I’m better off as a palm tree,
Swaying in the breeze under the apocalyptic sky.