Silently it slumbers, upon the high shelf,
Contained within it, as yet unread wealth,
Of knowledge, of wisdom, of thoughts and ideas,
Ready for storage, between the two ears.
The sleeve of the book, is yellowed and torn,
Its pages smell ancient, half beaten and worn,
Its spine sewn in place; of cotton from spindle,
An unchartered experience for those with a Kindle.
The book in question, by J.W Dunne,
The New Immortality, with his own slice of fun,
So time is an illusion, produced by the mind,
False Time and Real Time, forever entwined.
We travel through eternal duration, our spiritual path,
Consciousness ne’er to be concluded, by Physics nor Math,
Our two selves live on, one lower, one higher,
Materialsm is dead, now placed on the pyre.
“Existence is matter, coincidence and chance”,
Quite unmajestic and frigid, no love nor romance,
In this life and after, we continue to be,
For life is eternal, you just wait and see…
Life is not the opposite of death. Death is the opposite of birth. Life is eternal…