George W. Bush Enters Into Hell

The Decider’s Dream


By Elton Camp


After having a wee nip of booze,

The Decider laid down for a snooze.

Seemed he’d barely shut his eyes

When he suddenly began to rise.


Up, up into the sky so high

That the moon he passed by.

Instantly, without any hint or warning

Turned right and went on till morning.


Landed on a cloud with a whirl

Before a gate made of a pearl

An older man with visage grim

Called aloud and stared at him.


“If entrance to here you hope to gain

There is very much you must explain.

Despite your claim to be born again,

I find recorded here a long list of sin.”


The Decider gave his shoulders a shake

I can’t, right off, recall a single mistake.

Any wrong I did that you can see,

Tell me right now what it might be.


The Gatekeeper cleared his throat.

You overthrew an evil old goat.

The reason you gave for the try

You knew well enough was a lie


Masses of weapons weren’t in his power,

Not then, not ever, not even for an hour.

But if you claimed it was so,

So people to a war would go.


Give now, a reason why

So many people had to die.

Perhaps his rule you tried to spoil

To gain control over all his oil?


An important job you gave to a sycophant friend.

When a crisis rose, he didn’t know how to begin.

Though thousands had to wail and sob,

You said, “You’re doing a heck of a job.”


It was due to your own contention

To ignore the Geneva Convention.

You allowed, with a wink and a smile,

Soldiers to torture prisoners for a while


When word of those acts got around,

Goodbye claim to high moral ground.

The CIA showed the world just the way to go

At the prisons, Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo.


Enough wrongs are on this page.

To give me real a sense of rage.

Let’s see how well it will work

If I give this lever a little jerk.


A panel opened beneath the Decider’s feet.

He fell downward from the abode of the elite.

After he plunged down an enormous slide

He came to the place where he would abide.


“Welcome home,” a mocking voice said

From a man dressed in a suit of fiery red.

Each side of his head had a sharp pointed horn.

The Decider feared where he had been borne.


To provide even more proof,

Each leg ended with a hoof. 

A pitchfork he held in his right hand.

“Now, your soul I rightly do demand.”


“My mission is now complete. 

In my realm you have a seat.

Here you will scream and flail,

While I twitch my pointy tail.”


The Decider awoke with a horrible shout.

“What could that dream have been about?

It was an awful vision I found quite zany.

The man in red looked like Dick Cheney.”



Note:  This is a poem of humor and a satire of certain church doctrines, not a statement of theological belief.  I tried to repost it in a "humor" category, but can't find one. 

Elton4562   Elton4562 wrote
on 8/13/2010 7:14:26 AM
Note to readers: I declined to allow a comment from a reader who took me to task for being "judgmental." Duh, this is a poem of humor. It is stated at the end that it isn't a statement of theological belief. Thanks for reading. Appropriate comments are always welcome. Anything condescending or unfair will not be allowed. Elton

writing Elton4562

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I'm the Decider. That means I decide what's to be done.