Falling Through the Sky

I fell to earth when I died. I fall now in the blue, blue sky. The darkness is the question, "Am I alive?" The answer is darkness too. You don't understand the vice like grip about my chest, the Magican Heart, a feather weight upon my soul, and I still fall in the blue, blue sky. I am of, "The People." The second culture of humanity,”to see the birth of our past from a world, "A Garden of Eden World"

Life is a gift, death a certainty, and I died. I came to here, I chose here, the blue, blue sky, to fall eternal, to feel what was robbed of me. You still don't understand, I choose to make this fall eternal, I teleport myself back up, up into the land of the blue, blue sky where the air would rob my life, tear open the lining of my lungs if breathed this air pure and true, so thin it is.
I am of, "The People." The second culture of humanity, to grow, to see the birth of our past on a world, "A Garden of Eden World," where life came, life grew, life made humanity, and to spite all the chances to fail, "We the People lived." We lived not an hour, not a moment, not a century, but an eternity to this minute, this second, a place in time we call now. We grew in number till one cannot count us, and we populate the universes, free, and proud.
Learn of us in my story, in my telling, and maybe find something of yourself here.