It's not a simple creed
That renders Paradise,
Nor a faith comprising
A belief in a parturition of tomorrow.
Your contrition, your sorrow
Need not depend on credence,
Or a wish to see an angel
On golden streets divine,
Such things are neither yours
Nor mine.

We can't perceive what there will be
But know this:
Our dreams desire immortality,
Dignified, sensitive, generous, sublime,
To display what waits in time,
What God portends –

That death is origination,
That life is not the end.