Bring from the beyond

a stone
as proof

of existence,

that our bodies

remain in this

dimension.

Bring proof

that your soul,

having departed,

will return

on the morrow,

reborn
in a world

of a new body;

new homes

made of matter.

But

what if we

the struck
evolved from a bacterium;

the Big Bang theory,

Charles’s ape?

No soul remains after death,

we don’t even have one;

prayers fall silent,

hymns fade away,

monasteries

SILENCE.

Is it not frightening?

Does your heart not ache deep inside,
even if you say

you don’t believe in greatness,

somewhere within
you beg for forgiveness.

Prayer saves

from the darkness

of vanity.

Are heaven and soul
made of atoms?