Heavens! Hell?

Mists cold on swirling iciness
Fly the soul up to the realm
A frozen world,
A gloomy domain
Of there in the netherworld

Nothing will impede
This soul’s true travel
Weakened through health
But thought himself strong
Like a bull Mastiff

Yet  when alive, he rolled up
Liked a muffled Pangolin
Stuck in his Clerical job
Coughing his lungs out
His end was Swift indeed

They thought he was Homicidal
And wanted him to Reform
Leave the Gin, drink vodka instead
They said even as he doubled up
As he smoked his twentieth cigarettes

He did not eat animal Carcass
He did not indulge in any Fad
He thought Interstellar video games
Nasty and made gamers on smoky rooms
Look pale, sickly and Pudgy

He loved solving  a Riddle or two
Thought Quasimodo was a type
Of a squash that’s badly hybrid
and Vary from other pumpkins
so his demise was sad indeed
 
he died with Sugarcoat-knowledge
of heaven and its realms
for he got his information
from a  Petty but Vivacious
Little Nurse

In the netherworld, the poor sod
Looked at the frozen vastness
Sadly mourned his smokes and Gin
Rest in Peace... and shiver?

*written as a comedy of errors, no offense meant to anyone*