I do not taste ambrosia, in the apples from the tree,
and if halo waver on my head, it does not sit right on me.

I do not hear angels sacred harps, in symphonies of love,
or see the astral eyes of gods, in blue fields high above.

I do not see wings upon my shoulders, although they often
ache,
and I believe my body's mine, and not a Gods to take.

Maybe this is why it's said, we leave our bodies here,
and our souls melt into merely force, as subtle as a tear.

A world without meaning, is a cappella, creation ever
blunt,
God or angels giveth meaning? In this treasure hunt?

Or is it human perception, and plainly nothing more?
The answer is beyond, the eternity bound law.

The whole marvellous scheme, is I will not be here to say.
I will be a silent example, that we must live every day.

To always wonder, ponder, dream, stop and stare,
to always appreciate, the flesh, and what is truly there.

Ask the question, for fear of unknown, earth or God or
both?
The spirit, and the science, forever under oath.

To never break the illusion, be it that at all,
Only ever certain, at the final curtain call.

As for when I'm gone, am I gone? We shall have to wait and
see.
Maybe we are meaning, maybe meaning's me.