Upturned

I am suffering in hell;

sinking in sludge and mud.

Christ!

Bombarded by shells;

sometimes drowned in a flood;

trapped among hairy rats;

my clothes crawling with fleas

oh, but surely, God, that

is what hell’s meant to be.

Oh and God how it stenches;

stale urine and death;

dead men litter hell’s trenches

making me curse my breath.

They’re not starving and cold

in this cramped, filthy space;

no, now their lucky souls

are in some better place.

Or are they?

For angels wear feathers,

like cowards, of white.

Oh, I wonder whether

they were afraid to fight?

What a perverted thing!

Is this world so up turned

that the cowards wear wings

while the brave men get burned?

And perhaps that’s why devils

and Generals wear red.

Hell's on a higher level;

heaven turned on its head.

Yes creations upside down.

Fair is foul; sick is well.

That’s why cowards wear crowns

while we suffer in hell.