Going to Heaven? Then why are you afraid of Death?

My thirteen-year-old son Jon wrote this satirical poem just for fun. I think he has real talent.

Cold crimson.

The sauce of the dead.

Shouldn't be here.

No.

They should be confined.

But is Death?

By no means.

It is the master.

Then why is death crimson, black?

Blood keeps us alive.

Sorrow keeps us dead.

The color of death is the opposite of all dark rages.

Ice. Bloody ice. Too much. No more.

To live would be so cold.

But the heat of the oven, lalala.

Piece of cake.

Overdone.

I will die.

Why wait?

Can it be as uncomfortable as we think it to be?

The raven cries for Death, the only material death.

Why not?

We need to eat.

Make life from Death.

Why not?

It's simple. They die. We eat. You cry, It's Meat!

Vegetables? What's the difference?

Go for it. Nature means cruelty.

Ha! But who cares?

Cruelty is caring.

Nah, But in a way we kill to live.

How is this society so naive?

So listen to me.

To survive is to save.

Save a life.

Save Money Live Better

Wal-Mart!