Poem With No Message

Do you not see how it just comes pouring out of you? Like a cup overflowing. As natural as a river running. The gods choose their messengers so that they may convey these words. And deliver them we must. We shall will it so. In the sad night or by good day. In poverty or by gold. In sickness or by god. We shall will it so. Here it is, my friends, we are within, heaven or hell, you shall choose thy name, as before, as always without end, you shall live as if though, and we shall will it so. And if not, the hell with it. With heaven in mind, ride the sky to perfect bliss. From space to ocean floors, black holes, and planet cores, born again, and then die to decay only to be rediscovered again. We shall will it so.