• I held up for an inspection,
    A speck of Heaven in my hand,
    I wondered at it's glories,
    And pondered at it's plans.

    But this speck had not the reason,
    Nor had it yet the rhyme,
    To explain in plainer terms,
    The reason for it's life.

    What meaning could be held,
    In so infinite a speck?
    What emotions yet derived,
    From something so complex?

    What is this tiny Heaven?
    This paradise, in hand?

    Mayhap it is as yet it seems,
    Merely and just a speck.
    Or perhaps, a greater being lies,
    Within the unending chambers.

    I inspected this speck of Heaven,
    This microscopic plane of light,
    And wondered if it were any more,
    Than merely a soul's own sight?

    Perhaps each soul a Heaven owns,
    Which waits to recompense,
    For all the suffering imbued,
    In the life we've come to live.

    Or perhaps Heaven merely was a thought,
    A dream that came to life,
    Like a fancy often dreamt of,
    Or the wishes of a heart.

    I inspected this small speck,
    And found more questions than answers,
    But questions are wealth in a world,
    Where answers cease to be.