I wrote a poem about materialism, reincarnation, and the afterlife. Perhaps you might find it interesting.

1.1:
Balanced out no more.
Lost in the grey woods. One-way signs/crumbling walls.
Tighter by the second.
No bodily form.
Psychopomps. Floating towards Alpha.
The maze of the old village. Dreaded by its visitors. Loved by its captors.
THE MAZE OF THE OLD VILLAGE.
Phosphorescent ivy and moss. Scent of dog saliva.
Taking one step-forward...blind folded.

1.2:
Wet sole.
Raining upwards. Every step of the way.
A walking mist.
Sorrounded by forest beings.
Throat grunts. Drone sounds. Bitter Landscape
Progression.
Beings diminish from the field of vision.
Sinking. Every-step of the way.
Bliss.
The Ox. Facing North.
Disturbance.
Forward. What for.
No logic. No form. No purpose.
Fading Away.