FROM: Whence I came
will I return again,
am I dust of distant light year stars,
made wet clay of heavenly dew,
formed in the falling gravity of time?
TO: Appear a formed mass imprisoned here,
with eyes to see and ears to hear,
hands to touch and heart to feel,
the prison disintegrate in times weathering storm?
NOW: The clay dries and cracks,
ivory bone sand blown in desert heat,
all sucked up in rays of sunshine,
ascending in particles on the wind,
will I return to light years star shine again?
FROM: the dark womb,
TO: the darker tomb,
NOW: I ask the Creator of this destiny: Will I rise again?
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