Every now and again I will write what my husband and I like to call a “Serious Seuss”: a whimsical style poem that is serious in nature. The one that follows is a youthful styled poem that is a biblical worldview of life. The choice we have to make is only a choice while we are here. Any way, here is my – just for fun – “Serious Seuss” called – The Young Man.
The Young Man
There was a young man born to prestige and wealth,
Blessed with not only money, but good looks and health.
About the town he carried himself with pride,
Needing nothing from anyone that money couldn’t buy.
Every day he passed by an old man by a store,
Who didn’t ask for money, just a moment of time he implored.
The young man would ignore him and keep on his way.
After all, he had no moments he dared give away.
Then one day while distracted he entered the street.
Where a car sent him flying, clear off his feet.
In front of the old man, he found himself lying,
He cursed, winced and yelled, seeing the old man spying.
“How dare you, old man, come to make a fool out of me!”
“It is not I” groaned the man, “as you will soon see”
“What madness are you screeching, as I lay here in pain?
Call for an ambulance, run for help, do something! Don’t be insane”
“Your body is broken, and soon you may breathe your last
For a moment of your time, I have captured at last.
Your image and money be your idols that control,
But there is a choice that is bigger to unfold.
Heaven or Hell is the choice you have left to face,
While everything you live for will be left in this place.
God will adopt you, don’t worry, all you need is believe.
Have faith, seek forgiveness, to the Lord you must cleave.”
“Get away from me old man, stop spewing your trash.
I am loosing my…” He whispered, when before him his life flashed.
The young man, now alone, standing in an empty space,
With two doors before him, his fate he had come face to face.
“Heaven” and “Hell” the doors were glaringly engraved.
The old man was wrong, he wasn’t enslaved.
It was his choice to make, no worries needed to be had.
There was no reason to be anything other than bad.
He ran to the “Heaven” door and tried to go through.
But the door was locked, nothing he could do.
He turned to “Hell” and with a relief, found this too locked.
As he slumped to the floor, feeling he was being mocked.
He sat there and wondered what would he do.
He heard a door creak, then open it flew.
The “Hell” door now wide, as a glaring invitation.
He knew this was his lot. His sinful citation.
The doors had been locked because it was no longer his choice.
That had expired for him, along with his voice.
The man felt the pull of the eternal blackness.
With pain and heaviness he embraced his sadness.
“I shouldn’t have been stupid, stubborn and naïve,
I had been given every chance and assurance to believe.
Now this Hell is mine, for all eternity,
If only I could go back, I would live life so differently.”