Death Rambles On

Read this as an extend limerick.

————

A young fellow whose soul made him whole

very foolishly sold it for gold.

Now the Reaper’s his keeper—

he sleeps even deeper

than fish since his wish

to be rich was a switch

from his youth (not yet couth

but in truth, back in college

he still lacked the knowledge

of what we call “ways of all men”)

although not many days would pass when

he’d discover a lass who’d uncover

the many sweet lessons a lover

could put within reach,

which she’d preach and she’d teach

before dumping his ass

(yes, I know, that sounds crass,

but that’s just what she did);

she decided to rid

her young life of that fool—

banned his tool from her jewel—

for she saw, once his couth became un,

it was clear he was no longer fun.

And so, growing older, not wiser,

steadfastly becoming a miser,

he valued what’s his

more than anyone’s biz

but he soon learned that “all”

was beyond his best haul

until he made a deal

with a guy who could steal

something he couldn’t see

what its value might be,

so when he pulled that finger

the guy didn’t linger

but left him a very large purse

full of gold—then his story got worse.

He found he could no longer spend,

nor could he illegally lend

for a vig that’s outrageous—

his bargain, contagious,

led others to beg,

trade an arm and a leg

(and a soul for good measure)

for unearthly treasure,

which pleased the Collector,

that grim, dark infector

of malice and greed

who would peddle the need

for what wasn’t of value

but proved to be shallow

compared to whatever is lost

when one’s soul, in the end, is the cost.

By Ken Gosse

From: United States

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/ken.gosse/