Original publication date: April 11th, 2007

I live in this world.
I breathe in this air.
I drink this water.
I eat of this bread.

This world is in me,
Is what makes me real.
A body of dust,
I’ll pass with the wind.

How can I, from this,
Be now satisfied?
I am nothing more
Than food to the flies.

I only exist.
I have not a soul.
That which makes me be
My love does not know.

My heart pumps my blood
To maintain my life.
My blood keeps me warm
And fights off disease.

All of this is so
Just because it is.
It’s no miracle;
It’s simple science.


I live life for love.
On goodwill I feast.
More than flesh, I’m of;
I’m no soulless beast.

I am dust to wind;
I am food to flies.
But I’ll next transcend;
I, in soul, will rise.

This world has beauty
From an artist’s hand.
Drawn finer, surely,
Than earth’s artists can.

I charge there is one,
Greater than we are,
Who did draw the sun,
The earth, and the sea.

I know life is more
Than living to die.
How can I be sure
That in this I am right?

I have felt God’s love,
Through those in my life.
I have known God’s dove,
To defeat my strife.

No coincidence
Could have started this
I’ll grant from dust whence,
Only by God’s wish.

Do you know artists,
Or do you know art?
And can you have one
Without the other?