Shall I Project A World,
Scatter full the sky with constellations
and create my own private universe?

The dead are never gone,
but still ever persist,
in the bread we eat
and
the wine we drink.

Long ago our names were written.
Long ago our names were etched.
Do you, think for one moment
this was all an accident,
and any of this is real?

Or do you feel
////that all this is a reflection in the water pond
a cast stone disturbing all reality as it ripples outward////