Benjamin McFarland is an aspiring poet from central Ohio. He holds an associate degree in Paralegal studies and is the founder of a progressing theory in wordplay. He likes to hobby in the contemporary arts, digital manipulation, and music composition. The McFarland Library is a poem epic series of Allegories, Devotionals, Plays, Theories, Historical Narratives, and Wordplay.
by Benjamin McFarland
by Benjamin McFarland
Published Jul 11, 2012
Genre: POETRY / Epic
A Spiritual Journey
Take a walk through the world’s major religions and philosophies as they journey through hell, heaven, and judgment day. Afterlife is an allegory of Matthew 7:13-14 that thoroughly educates the reader about the spiritual things of life. First take a walk with Socrates down the broad path to hell as he discusses atheism before touring Buddhism, Hinduism, Confucius, Wicca, Taoism, and Universalism. Then join John Milton for a walk down the narrow path to heaven through Christianity to discover the broad still along the way for Christian Science, Judaism, Mormonism, Baha’i, and Islam.
Like lightning downwardly I fell into a darker growing black; a distant light alone revealed the destination of my path. But as I closer grew to that it showed a blazing ball of flame, and screaming souls tormented flashed from in and out the scorching frame. The noise grew louder as I came the closer, falling faster still, until I struck the bottom lame and realized I was in hell. It rankly choked with putrid smell my breathless lungs beneath its stink. Fire reflected on the wall and flared the heat’s intensity. I suffocated as to breathe the sulfur, brimstone, burning flesh, but something stood in back of me, and leaned its claws against my chest. It heavy breathed and monstrous, intimidating its design, then threw me up the wall against onto the steady floor’s decline. It cut that part manhood defined and clawed it inward brutally, then mutilated me each limb, while growling heinous blasphemies, i.e. something about a son that he in railing anger harshly charged: a bastard born of harlotry, and crafter of the witch’s arts, and many others that I bar, incapable of utterance; too wicked and too horrible to speak without a due defense. I focused all my attention upon the gates in columned black, where people reached their desperate hands in agony to find exit. It was the only hope they had, to beg for that which I endured, which made the punishment more mad, that I the least of it suffered. But as the marring got rougher, I heard an iron cranking sound, and knew it wanted another: my brutal time with it was done. But as the gates were wide opened a wall of fire, burning wind, and outcry, showed on the pavement a confusion of heads and limbs, until a voice from high said, “quit” and I shot up from out the pit.