2014 05 12
I sit quiet on velvet-cushioned pew
in round church, carpeted and painted white,
in purple evening when soft breezes blow,
and peach-gold sun casts piercing rays of light.
I sense no cosmic presence in white hall
except soul I generate from my head
for Jesus is but painting on blank wall
whose corpse lies rotting two thousand years dead.
Prime Mover who activated Big Bang,
that splashes galaxies across vast void,
knows nothing about my small conscious mind
while atoms congregate in dreaming Beings.
Pastor who prances with Bible on stage,
preaching resurrection of souls from death,
deceives desperate believers with cruel lie
that God will create perfect paradise.
Our souls dissolve to nothing when we die
and ever-evolving globe of our home
where creatures live and die in waves of hope
will never freeze in perfect paradise.
When Man and Woman copulate in love
children reincarnate genetic soul
reborn each generation in new flesh,
eternal life in species beyond death.
We gather around Fruit Tree on Song Hill
and share our experience surviving death,
then follow Tribe Leader on Road of Life,
exploring Earth to understand its scheme.
We rise from Lake of Dreams at Dawn of Light
and breathe in wind of soul-refreshing hope
then label everything with words of sense
and sing new vision of our universe.
We walk beside Tribe Leader on wide plain
while he explains secret nature of things,
and when I encounter trouble in life
I ask him for advice on how to act.
While sitting in round church on Sabbath morn,
I dream entire history of human life
since we gathered in circles on lake shore
and share tales of our ancestors long dead.