A Crossroad

A crossroad: two diverging paths.
One sign, old and worn.

I went right.
There was black.
Cold, flame.
Grunting, toiling.
Hunger. Sweat.
I saw Prometheus.

I backtracked,
went left this time.
There was white.
Soft. Abundance.
I saw Judas.

Confused, I returned,
stood before the signs.

A hooded man approached,
I asked why Judas
was in paradise.

“All wander where they like,” said he,
“Judas indulges all day;
never finds peace,
the leech, unable to stop sucking.”

He continued:
“And there, Prometheus, the noble soul,
each day tortured for his sacrifice of love.”

“So which is heaven,
and which is hell?” asked I.

“Neither,” said he,
“or, both, if you like,
for the souls that dwell there
make either so.”


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