In my utopia,
they come from heaven.
just like raindrops,
they fall into the earth and seep into that human form,
and stay out of the murky pathway.
When heaven is full and pregnant,
it drops water.
when the maker is full of requests,
he releases souls.
that constant thing that lives on…
in a forced marriage to the spirit.
That thing that has been over ad over,
Lessons of attaining the god status.
It is cold outside,
So you are firmly gripped by that tiny hole of a warmth
catch momentarily death, while pipeline releases.
A human form begins to take shape,
It will be nine moons before god answers your request.