The Lands Just South of Hell
/
0 Comments
The story I am about to tell
Takes place in a land just south of Hell,
Where whether you whisper, talk or yell
Nothing untrue can be said.
Further south from this place resides
A land where tiny porky pies
And massive, stinking chunks of lies
Are all that is heard, instead.
I found myself in True-Tell town
When I aimed for Hell but fell straight down
And bumped my head on the stony ground
Of the land where no one lies.
A dark and morbid place, it was.
The faces all wore frowns because
Their lips were bound by physics laws
To speak without disguise.
“The weather’s crap, and so are you,”
I heard from a man that I disliked too,
And I had no choice but to tell him, “You
Are a brute, and your belly’s too big!”
No one was nice, and depression surrounded
The people whose mutual resentment was founded
By their enemies’ mouths which repeatedly sounded
Critiques, nitpicks and digs.
Demoralised, I left for Lie Land
Hoping to bury my head in the sand
But instead, I found more sadness and
Deceit that stretched for days.
See, not a noise they make is true
Not even the laugh of a child of two
You'll find mayo in your tube of glue
And signs that point wrong ways.
I asked how to get out of there
For I was slipping into despair
A woman stopped and said, "Nice hair!"
When I knew from her face she’d hate it.
I tried to run home, but quickly saw
My sense of direction was lying more
Than the “EXIT” sign on every door
But after years of struggle, I made it.
And now, I’ve learned from those two towns
That there’s a kind of middle ground
A balance that a few have found
And here’s the lesson, brothers:
No matter circumstance or wealth,
Height or weight or mental health,
You only have to be true to yourself
You can lie to all the others.
About Aaron Kane Heinemann
