All disolves.
I am beyond the world,
among atoms and energy,
soul and spirit.
The abstract is real,
the real is gone--
The cycle spins,
I recall lives past
and embrace the
voice of death.
In ages this room will be gone,
tarnished by time,
a speck of dust.
Of what is the soul composed?
The mechanics of spirit,
ghost trails,
gracefully enlaced with vines and blossoms
of the psyche.
Can we grasp infinity?
To point a line at space,
to reach what doesn't end,
to bask in the galaxy,
trying to find a reason.
Beyond fact,
beyond complexity,
I find a new world,
governed only
by my soul.