The devil's diplomat

And so, dear soul,
you've reached this place called death.
You lived your life of avarice and opulence;
then you gasped at your last breath.

You see these gates of gold and ivory,
they were created just for you and me.
For you and I are so alike sweet one.
You've always loved the warmth of a fiery sun.

The weather here is sunny all the time.
Even the rain is warm on your face
and the sheets you'll sleep on are made of lace.
Or would you rather a better place?

Let me tempt you in dear soul departed
or be from these treasures forever parted.
I am the devils diplomat,
come, step upon the welcome mat.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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