unseen in space
What do you think the afterlife is, and why?
We have talked about this topic once or twice
Speculating on the day we die
Hoping that it might be kind of nice.
How can you think a thing about a place
Composed of words, at this point, not of sight
Charted not on map, unseen in space
Someone must be wrong, someone right
Many, like myself, believe in God
Trusting one who says he made the earth
Trusting those who said they saw him die
Then he came alive to prove his worth
“But you never met this God,” you say
Well, I think I have, I do reply
“You have felt some feelings, be it may.”
Well, I think he’ll tell us when we die
It would be quite hard for God to lie.
Note: I was inspired to write this by accidentally eavesdropping on someone's radio. I was sitting out on my porch a few nights ago and a car drove by. Its radio was playing a talk show, its volume cranked up very loud, and I heard the following line asked by the host, “What do you think the afterlife is, and why?” So I typed the question down and this poem followed.