Strizoke in yo brizain, you know what I'm sayin'?

Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
No birth, identity, form – no object of the world.
No life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space – ample the fields of Nature.
The body, sluggish, aged, cold – the embers left from earlier fires,
The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;
To frozen clods ever the spring’s invisible law returns,
With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

— Walt Whitman