They may say that I’m a quack,
Or that I do not have a clue,
But if you will consider that
I detest how conformed minds lack,
Then observe while I quack-a-doodle-do.

"Life is like a line," they chime,
Joined by "A" and "B."
They say, in fact, and with exact,
That Life resides between.

But of their claim, which seems mundane,
That says the lines superior,
We cannot conceive that they believe
That Life can be so linear.

Of this, we say, to you today:
(And, we mean it with great honesty)
The line, you see, can only be
A piece in this Geometry.

I asked the man of the Light
How the dead do tread;
He looked at me with empathy,
And this is what he said:

Earth’s little offspring,
Back to earth they ran;
But of that born in heaven,
*To heaven returns again.