One need not believe in a Maker to believe in eternity.
Long past my death, In the other world I won’t see, Beauty will live on. Someone will play A recording of The Lark Ascending And the strings will pull At their strings, taking them Somewhere they didn’t know Existed. Our deaths may Make one think we’re solitary, A blip in time. And we are. We are also continuous, Each of us one link in a chain Stretching back to that Eve— Not the one of which The charlatans speak, but The Eve who is mother of Us all, the one from whom We all descend. We are not Solitary. We are a continuum, One soul feeding other souls, Taking in you and you and me. We are not islands, but a Large mass, one great land, An ecosystem which sustains Itself, even when faced with death. Long past my passing, My progeny will play The Lark Ascending, And see that they are not alone, But stand, if not on the Shoulders of giants, then on the Shoulders of those who give them A leg up, just a shove, To see a bit further.