Does life really begin on the bog?
A working man's thesis

Beholding this small corner, of our universe from space
you'd be tempted into thinking, what a beautiful place.
  shining in the darkness, blue, indigo, bright green,
 an awe inspiring sight, precious few have seen,
clothed in vegetation enclosed by rolling seas.
Spinning in the blackened void, with Jupiter and Mars,
 criss-crossed by  glowing comets, sparkling shooting
 stars.

 Observed with wonder from afar,
 this big bang one off treasure,
 whirls around, lit by the Sun,
in unhurried timeless leisure.

But all is not well in this paradise apparent,
adding credence to the saying
 "Distance lends enchantment"
 
For in among that beauty on approaching ever near.
 One day as terrified quarry, then predator in turn
hide millions of species
                           in a World of perpetual fear.                                
On a shrinking dearth of precious earth,
frightened creatures thickly cover
 the only work done is original sin,
between eating one another 

All of life
God? sends down
  ends up cremated or in the ground.
As each generation completes its stay.
spent, used, wrinkled, grey
It's squeezed from out this arsehole
of its host the Milky Way.

Processed into viscous, handy size turds
from all walks of life, Numpties and Nerds
teachers, professors, Kings and Queens,
those out the jungle, and other Hasbeens.
 
More useful dead, than when alive
working for ever now...not nine till five.
Pulped together gristle and brain
 feeding renewables over again.
Holy men preach, it's glorification.
 The thinking man's says, reincarnation
 
       Take for instance when an old man dies
 it's hard to believe this waxen faced guy
 once the darling of some Mothers eye.
Interred at the foot of the old fruit tree.
Decomposed into bonemeal...broken down will be,
 the recomposed ingredient for a tasty recipe.
When the soul begins its journey to Heaven way up high?
  What's left...doth swell the autumn fruit,
for many an apple pie.  

Our remains are key to continue,
 rudimentary life, as a whole
  Re-eaten, re-fined, then re-shit through
  subsequent lines of arse holes. 
 
 Posing another question,
 to prove this dissertate sound.
 Is Heaven up there amongst the stars

                                                    or in layers under ground?