A hard-bitten bar fighter,
He got old and began losing fights,
A hardcore street thug,
His last fight left him
Clinically dead on a city street.
He felt his soul leave his body
And descend to Hell.
He saw demons and the pit.
He screamed and screamed,
As the doctors brought
His body back to life.
He swore he’d change
Got religion, became a preacher,
Died with a Bible in his hand
And escaped the fires of Hell.
Bob Boyd
Author: BobBoyd
Age 80. Cancer survivor since 3 years ago. Work out 3 times a week. Ride my exercise bike 2 hours a day. Live a solo reclusive life. Retired a year ago from working with the elderly in a nonprofit. Started writing poetry a little over a year ago; most poems I write are fictional but some are not. Spiritual with a permanent spiritual experience. Write poems on many subjects. Always researching for many of my poems and because of my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. After reading and hearing about many near death experiences and death bed visions, I believe death is the ultimate awakening and the relocation of a lifetime. You may believe differently, but you have the right to be wrong -- I'm just messing with you. :-)
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