Dying straight line

Blissful reverie beginnings
Fill mason jars with
Cataclysmic repertoires
And loving memories  
Specifically orchestrated      
Pyroclastic like similes
Apprehensive to gestation
Systematical count down
To an evitable destination
But a soul may yet soar
On breezes men never fly
To hear the tune of resonance
Corporal forms rarely perform
Feel opulence in not but illumination
Transparent millennia as but a flash
Far beyond a humanoid pursuit
So while a body starts with intending
Spirits are infinite and never ending
You may think we are a dying straight line
But we are a circle….reinventing.