A Lost Girl

I want to dream of Heaven;  
so full of hopes I went to sleep.
I thought the Astral plane would leaven    
the Non-Existence of my weeps.    
    
But what was the horrible surprise    
when I slowly but securely found out    
that It was the same Old Disguise    
that makes me out of obscurity shout!    
     
I wandered nearby the lantern-flashing windows   
the same corroding buildings, full of no one at their best;  
the bus with textless sign and vacant were its seat rows,  
no directions really filled in its need to be addressed.  
     
Oh, I tried to soar up in my dreams.  
Indeed, I landed on the cosmic Astral;    
but not inhabited, instead it seems    
that it is Nothingness between all portals.    
     
At night, I would believe    
that the Cosmos was vivid of aliens,  
with Spaceships that would leave    
dimensions similar to ours, sapiens',  
     
that would share the same skies and time,    
yet it turned out that Light is an illusion,    
when travelling so far, where does it entwine,    
dispersed, out of reach, in galactic confusion?    
     
Oh, The Sky is full of dense and bluest gas,  
pressuring the soul, stopped by the ethane,    
trapping the adventurer amid unfathomed mass,    
that's trying to escape this quarantined domain.  
     
Our spaceships that have lonely  
happened in the Vacuum of the Veil,    
Revived its matrix, as the only  
birth of life is through a tale.  
     
I have not departed, it's early as of Yet;    
I'm lost among the humans, yet I am designing;    
Causal, Etheric, ever Fleshy, I am Death.    
Too young to feel I'm mortal, as my age is not declining.  
     
Meeting heaven's friends is forbidden prematurely.  
Upwards, downwards, sideways - it's always cul de sac.  
A lesson for me, neglecting missions immaturely,  
I only opened doors for ghosts that would attack.  
     
If only I could Manage to perform the Magic drastic,  
to cross a Single Spiral or a tunnel to the Light,  
would I only damage and alarm the planet's fabric,  
causing vain distress to its Guardians at site?  
     
Instead, my yearning poured out,  
and an Ocean Soup created,  
without a bottom, born out  
of the Unbegotten nucleated.  
     
Something unseen, unbelievable even!    
The Perfect Solution I found for Creation?  
New form, a gene, I ever believe in  
new Matrical Ways to aid all Formation.    
     
Cry, you lonely girl, an Earth-bound messiah.  
Your presence is stretching its hurt ends in between  
your body and spirit; trapped until triumph,  
you poor reincarnated being!
You're nowhere to be seen.