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Temporary Infintity
What is life
But a small part of who we are
A pure moment of our existence
Our world,
Millions and billions of years old
It is an odd concept
How small our lives must be
If this hypothesis is so true
Perhaps it is mere thousands
As some say.
But even so,
How small, how meaningless are we
If our world is an infinity.
How are we to find the importance of our souls
When we know that our existence
Is less than a grain of sand in the space of time?
How are we to know that we are real? Of importance?
Perhaps it is of finding myself in the space of time
Or the exhilarating concept of knowing we are so temporary
But, regardless, I have found my meaning.
I have found my reason to care
My motivation to thrive.
It is through knowing, believing, seeing,
Acknowledging, touching, embracing
That I am not alone.
That there is a Hand
Guiding me, teaching me His magic will.
It is not for trying to understand the meaning of this life
But understanding the lives of all others
For accepting that there is a Divine connection
Between us and the past
Us and the future.
It is the fact that we are not alone
That we are like a silk fabric.
Each a small part, each a thread
That is brought together
To make the world a colorful
And more beautiful place.
And although I believe our time on Earth is temporary
I believe that our souls are on fire
And that when it is all burned out
Remnants will still remain
Still parts of us will exist
Either in a place of positivity and delight
Or a pit of destruction and unimaginable justice.
Whichever we choose
It is our place of eternity
Our existence is an infinity.
And our loom is constantly weaving.
We are connected by space and time
And something, someone, bigger than Man.
We are connected by God,
And if God does not connect us
Than we are patches and frayed
And unbinding twine.
We are war and hatred and grime
We are death and bitterness and deceit
We are greed and power and oppression
We are more than our sick obsessions.
We are lost
And gone to the wind.
We are fragmented.
We are temporary
We are... nothing.
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