Bored in Heaven

by Chad Carpenter

I died a grisly death;

I'll not bore you with the details.

The doctors couldn't save me

with their stitches and their needles.

My soul flew from my body

to a brand new place above.

A perfect home I found there

pre-filled with all my stuff.

I settled in and looked around,

met the friendly neighbors.

And in this perfect Heaven,

I grew bored four hours later.

I tried to play the harp,

but I knew it wasn't me.

I flitted around on my wings

Until they grew heavy.

It became quite clear then

when facing eternity,

one really ought to take up

their own Heaven hobby.

So I thought real hard,

and a notebook fast appeared.

I took some time to write some lines,

but they all just sounded weird.

I closed my eyes again.

They opened to an easel,

but my attempt at Mona Lisa

looked more like a painted weasel.

I tried to learn to juggle,

I tried to learn to knit.

Before I accomplished anything,

I gave up in a fit.

I moved on to watching movies,

but I couldn't sit through one.

I grew bored of carnivals

before the rides were done.

I made no friends at all,

they couldn't keep my interest;

keeping up a dialogue

was like going to the dentist.

Centuries passed by.

I tried a million things,

from sports to arts,

they all proved passing flings.

My attention span,

it was now clear,

not much on Earth,

was shorter here.

Days grew long and soon I lagged,

so tired of even trying.

I must admit I moped a bit

and quite regretted dying.

Eons on, it's obvious,

though no one could fortell,

that Heaven, while so lovely,

is in fact my living Hell.

With eternity laid bare for me,

I know there is no help.

For Hell is not a place or thing,

but a person like myself.