We all measure ourselves by physicality,
And be material aspects.
We measure ourselves against reality.
Against mortality,
Against strength,
Against height,
Against the weaker forms of our absolution.
And yet with them belongs no true glory.
For those things are all of them a façade,
A shell for the world to see and compare to,
Where as what truly defines us is an infinite thing,
Trapped forever by absolution,
And trapped forever more by finite things.
And what is our true essence is bound by the mask we all wear,
The mask we can never be rid of in all absolutes,
Even till death do we part.
For then, what defines us most, is lost to the soil,
And to the shadows,
And the air.
For our true essence is not of flesh,
Nor metal,
And neither it be of any material,
Terrestrial, nor extraterrestrial in form.
Our being, in the full truth in light be,
Not physical, in any such manifestation,
Rather it be your mind,
Even closer still your thoughts,
Even closer still your dreams.
And yet, no mortal word can come close to it.
For there is a word of no such strength that can truly,
In all meaning, capture the full of human nature,
Nor life,
Nor our emotion, in any form it may take.
It, our limited perceptual language,
Is based on things we can hear, and see, and touch, and feel, and taste,
And finites.
And so is vastly limited to what is buried deep within our self.
And we can never be perfect,
And we can never express our truth.
For we can only scratch the surface as to explaining to others
All that we truly feel.
For we are much more than flesh, and absolutes.
We are human, and that can never be defined!