Buddhist Hell Poem by Morgan Michaels

Its own dark hills and dales
Make Dante's version look like a putt-putt
Whereas its flames make Hell's own plain
Seem snug as an electric blanket
And though, condemned there, you can get sprung,
So can you, thanks, from Purgatory.

Keep me, Lord, from a place
Where there's no parole, no peer-jury, no
Lawyers, phones (even a broken one) or leave;
Where it was nobody's fault but your own.
Just forget the insanity plea
You are guilty, guilty, guilty.

Why, a list of its offences
Include some of my favorite sins.
By it's tenets I have already earned
Eons of time writhing in its coils;
Nor can its multiplicities-eight, in sum,
Make me very eager to convert.

And though there may be some who call
Very earth Hell
(I didn't think so when younger, but au contraire
Thought very Heaven earth)
With my luck, I'd select some vice
Firmly attaching the Hell-string.

Listen, now...