Dear God above I beg of thee to reveal yourself.
Dear God below I beg you to make your presence known.
Dear King of Olympus cast down your thunderbolt.
Dear Xenu will you show us if Hubbard was right?
Dear Flying Spaghetti Monster I'd even accept you.

I can see no evidence for a God, but I beg to.

Clear water and blue skies
Distorted through glass eyes
Watery distortions
In the human mind
Heavenly perceptions
Made to confine
Reality
A spectrum defined
By the untrained minds
Cloud kings and underworld gods
Flaming pools
And cumulous mansions
Madness
Made to make us accept
The status quo
To slow our roll
We are Sisyphus
Pushing a boulder
Ever upwards
Without water
Without a break
Till they steal our last breath
They say only fools believe
In what they perceive
That the spiritual
Is the factual
But Plato’s Socrate’s cave
His allegory
Fits our life
Explains it with a perfect fable

And when I take in this air
The wind mirrors
The currents underneath me.
We're made of the same
Un-cut-able energy.

These under-waves that breathe
In Blooming aneurisms,
Like a great heart
Caught in the rhythm of the moon
And it's steady eyelid.

We are but capsules of this movement
On loan from the ocean.
Void-mother, salt nirvana
Breathing alongside us
And through our many faces.

Deep, hungry, all consuming black,
As the only affront to the abyss.
Her maelstrom-stomach
Now spitting wood and bottles
At the shore.

Before the inversion of her,
Loosening her keen grip on life
She settled to exist in scars
Pounding rhythm into the shore
And singing in many voices.

That masculine sun
Holding her flat, rejecting advancements,
Falls in their dance
And cannot cover her turning.
He flees the storms.

She swallows electric
Giving light to the deeper life
The great glowing thuds returned
She’s waking hearts to contain a fury,
She's making music into movement into us.

And from the movements,
Bubbles take the warmth up
Past the gaze of colossal ones
Living their lives as silhouettes.

Past caryatids in the black,
With curious eyes,
Holding up sponge-lined trenches
Threaded with eels.

Past the sand bed stretches
Thick with silt-eating things
Relishing the mud
That rises on the corners of rocks.

Past a plaice's eye
Which Crawls across his face,
In his short puberty,
Looking for dangerous shadows.

Delicate bubbles turn
Their pressured skins
Up through water currents,
To come burst at my feet,

And in the millionth morning
That comes into its opening
I am rocked like a child
In the movement I’m made of.
So I can just look forward
At the sun-blink.

My thoughts are chemicals.
I am made of recycled cells
That I ingest, I take in what's best
For optimal health, active or at rest.

My DNA as mysterious as the Cosmos,
The Cosmos less of a mystery than Ocean floors.
I come from the Ocean, an awesome notion,
A family with all others, every Thing is a cousin.

My ancestors all made it to reproduction.
I am assembled, through history, through selection.
My traits have been crafted, positively reacted.
Nurtured by Nature, genes that have lasted.

I am made from the stars,
Drink water that passed through dinosaurs.
I experience Life, though filled with a bounty of strife,
Through eyes of a Human, intelligence my paradise.

And though my species feels more advanced
And in control of a world we craft with our own hands,
We are not self-efficient, resources increasingly deficient,
A virus to be easily shaken, in which the planet would not be missing.

I have a fleeting gift,
Amidst the destruction that here lives,
And that is my consciousness,
No fear of abyss, no promise of bliss,

But in my spark of a lifetime,
Seemingly insignificant, and that's fine,
I have inside endless thoughts with my mind,
No need of afterlife with a gift so divine.