The Philosophy of Pitchforks
In the dark pit of hell, I imagine that the pitchfork comes in pretty handy to hurl the evil ones into their pitch-black places, hurls, flings, and tosses them down as a part of their permanent torment there. And as I imagine how those sharp prongs of the pitchfork sort and pierce, I can almost hear the agony of the bodies in pain, their tongues uncurling in those sounds of grief that rise up to my ears like flames. And I can imagine how that busy pitchfork there must feel, just doing the job that the Devil and destiny created for it, as it enforces the laws of punishment, and must remain pitiless, because it has the dark heart or, of course, is heartless. Isn’t that the point here, the plan for justice, that the pitchfork play its part well?