Long Past My Death, In the Other World

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.

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