HELL IS AN EMPTY SPACE

 

Hell is an empty space.

God sweeps it out every day,

clearing it of all misconceptions, prejudices, and pettiness.

She's a good housekeeper with a big broom.

No sweeping stuff under the rug.

I've seen her use a big vacuum cleaner,

you know the kind that guys use in their basements

to suck up wood shavings, dead bugs, and rusty nails.

 

Not sure where she dumps all that stuff,

but I guarantee you that it's not in hell,

hades, or even in purgatory.

I tried to find some dust in limbo,

but no such luck.

 

God really doesn't have time for this kind of stuff,

certainly not the nonsense spouted

by those who tell you that they're just too good for hell.

 

I've seen God clean her windows

so that everyone can see her while she works.

Funny how so many folks just love staring into heaven

and don't realize that they can just walk into the house

and sit down and have a drink with God.

 

She's like my old Jewish grandmother.

She'll give you a sandwich and a coke

and make you feel just fine.

Just don't tell her to throw out the trash.

 

The floor is always spotless,

no crumbs for the sinners,

no grime for the saints,

just a pristine shine that makes you feel at home,

like you belong, like you’ve always belonged.

 

I've watched her scrub the corners,

where the shadows used to hide,

and now it's all light,

all clarity,

no place for the darkness to linger.

 

People pass by, peeking in,

thinking heaven's just a glimpse,

a distant dream,

not knowing the door's unlocked,

the welcome mat’s out,

and God’s got a warm smile,

a sandwich waiting,

a cold drink in the fridge.

 

She doesn't bother with the loudmouths,

the self-righteous prophets of doom,

the ones who think they know the way.

She just cleans,

sweeps, vacuums, dusts,

keeps the place ready for anyone,

for everyone.

 

Hell is empty, and it’s not what they say,

no fires, no brimstone,

just a place that’s been cleaned out,

emptied of the lies,

the fears,

the petty hates.

 

God’s broom is big,

her vacuum louder than thunder,

and every sweep, every suction,

clears away another layer of human folly.

 

So if you’re looking for hell,

don’t bother,

it’s been cleaned out, swept away.

But if you’re looking for a place to sit,

to rest, to chat,

come by the house.

 

God’s there, cleaning windows,

making sandwiches,

offering drinks,

and all you’ve got to do is walk in,

sit down,

and enjoy the company.

 

© Richard Gordon Zyne 061524