Born from motes of light stuff,
dust from stars in space,
given form and focus,
a place, a name and face,
we erupt into this body,
from energy (or soul),
full of life's intentions,
both new and aeons old.
With all our newest methods,
we still wander seeking grace,
enshrouded from our purpose,
questioning our place.
So we seek the answers inwards,
in our vast subconscious lakes,
For all our search remaining,
mysterious; opaque.
