There he silently lays, adorned, mourned and deceased,

This once praised man, is now displayed for all to gape at and openly worshipped.

 

Blood silken vestments now adorn his shrinking cadaver,

This once religious icon. This once princely ruler!

       

But weep not for Pope John Paul,

For I now have to enquire-where now-is his eternal soul?

 

Hour by hour the silent crowd; illuminated by filament,

Amble past the corpse. But from his bloodless lips never were heard the invitation to repent!

 

Then as if by decree digital crystal flicker free wizardry, beams around the world, the face of the American President and his predecessors, but from their gaze there is little to behold.

 

But weep not for Pope John Paul,

For I now have to enquire-where now-is his eternal soul?

 

So the throne of Peter is now vacant-or so they falsely claim,

But was it ever occupied by the fisherman-in any popes darkened reign?

 

Then by early morning light conspiring cardinals in opulent Roman apartments,

Agitate loudly of his "mixed legacy." Then display false tears and practised laments.

 

And all the time in cloistered papal halls-the German now intrigues and lingers,

Espousing prepared words of comfort to religious brothers and sisters.

       

Now he wonders if his destined hour-has finally arrived?

 

Or has the moment departed-leaving him to cajole and plead?

       

But weep not for John Paul,

For I now have to enquire-where now-is his eternal soul?

       

Then within a few days prepared ghostly white smoke,        

Proclaims to Catholics worldwide that they might now partake,

       

In the literal joy,

In learning from a ceremonial Cardinals awaited religious edict:      

       

Today they have a pope and his chosen name is Benedict.