Musketeer Challenge #102. What Do We Do in Heaven? When We Die.

a poem by Denis Barter, Canada - poetry writer, author, poet

This was the question asked by Ken.
After serious thought, this is my reply.
Please note he said not “if” but when?
Twas then I realised everyone will die!

After giving serious thought to my end:
as to what my role in Heaven might be?
I considered tasks, in numbers without end:
as to which? From an infinite variety.

I could choose as to which, what and when?
A question that required serious thought.
But in the final analysis I decided Ken,
all my conclusions would come to naught!

for it is not our choosing that will decide.
In Heaven, everyone will be assigned a task.
Be it reward for actions, or penance for pride?
Though it made me wonder ‘why?’ Ken should ask!

So here goes Dear Friend: just a small sample.
From the deeper depths of my little grey cells,
comes the following thoughts, as I trample
over beliefs and tenets as my every verse tells!

What do we do in Heaven, when we die?
Shall we simply watch, do naught and pray?
A question answered later - in the by and by!
But no one will know until their fateful day!

As for me? Read on for tasks reviewed.
Some menial - most. Essential - a few.
So many choices and few eschewed,
that I have no idea what I might do!

Firstly, I could be a Cherub, with a tuneful bent,
but it’s best you know, I’ll not harp on that!
Perhaps a ‘Rapper’ - one that Heaven sent,
but of late, I’ve heard enough noise like that!

Maybe I’d be a singer, of the songster kind,
but my Falsetto voice broke years ago,
and the only Singer skills I know,
are those that one can use to sew!

Perchance I could whistle up the wind,
for those becalmed in the Sargasso sea,
but as my whistle, I can no longer find,
its piercing tones, are lost in history!

I could undertake salvage collection.
Corralling “Oldies” way past their prime.
These being examples of aged dereliction,
having passed their ‘Best before time!’

Could I play a Harp, such as Angels play?
That I could strum and hum their hymns
as they are said to do: forever night and day.
But I’m told they have no place for “Hims!”

Maybe I’ll garden? Just as I was taught?
But as weeds are not allowed to grow,
my talents will be brought to nought!
Moreover, dead men are too stiff to hoe!

Perhaps a compere with a voice that carries?
Urging new arrivals to move a little faster.
This means by prodding anyone that tarries,
I’d be a help, to the busy Celestial Master.

If there is a golf club - with no 19th Hole,
I could caddy for priests, and carry their clubs.
Those whose normal Sunday evening role,
is chatting to the sinners in the local pubs.

I could be a bell ringer, and play the Sunday ‘peal’.
“Appealing“ to all sinners, requesting they “Repent!”
With ‘changes’ wrought, they’d soon repeal,
to join the angel chorus in a Holy-Day event!

From all vocations, Heaven made for me,
I’d have a tricky time in choosing
one that’s aptly suited for the likes of me.
So for now I’ll keep on “cruising”,

and await my unwanted, final fateful day,
and keep my options open, until I arrive.
“If” I do appear, I want to have a say.
Such as a Trade not practised when alive!

Rhymer. September 9th, 2019.
(A ‘lighter’ look at the fateful “Unknown” and “Unproven” Fate all face.)

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