Stowaway

A traveller, from no known start or finish, caught a ride
Within this herd of self enraptured, dead wrong meat machines.
Within each one, it shares itself, but only those allied
by convictions, of magnitudes beyond Earth's plain ol'beans,

will be thrilled to the frickin' gills. What can be visualized
at some point up the cosmic scales, can be made manifest.
Lamentably, souls on this plane are deeply hypnotized,
and most would rather dwell where having half a brain is best.

To wake the Soul, is why we're here, but easy, it is not.
This quest will take the better part of life, and rock your clock
a dozen times. The old rewards for which we sought and fought
will lose their smack and tang, but still, uphill, you'll push the rock.

The Truth about the Universe, both in us, and without,
annihilates all myths and dogmas. As we are, we're not fit
to sneak up on the vaguest grasp of what this Life's about.
The work to wake, will steel this grasp over years, bit by bit.

Though no one knows exactly what occurs when Death zaps head,
my guess would be, that we're assessed, and assigned to fill that place
appropriate to certain qualities, which only Grace
would know are right and best. I'm wagering, when I drop dead,

be it dragon's teeth, pure paradise, or something in between,
it will count that my life was lived, turned to a northmost star.
It will count that a victim flock does not shout out 'obscene
degenerate!,'when ol' St. Pete unlocks and lifts the bar.

To pass from here, unmindful that precious sacred truths are real,
disqualifies the whole nine yards. Again, next life, same deal.
But when your own eyes see, all doubts will die because it's True.
Until this path to Light is found, there can be nothing new.