If I Were a Poet

You’ll meet all kinds of people
on the way to hell.

The rich,
the poor.
Those who love the world,
and those who don’t give a damn.
Some who pray and go to church,
and some who don’t even believe
that believing is possible.

The way is broad
and lined with shops selling souvenirs.
Just keep your eyes on your smartphone
so you won’t see what’s around the bend.

A multitude of
every tribe and tongue
marches toward oblivion:
Some are shouting,
some are laughing,
some are crying,
some are silent,
and some are you.