In pondering what it means to die, in our obsession with the deepest "Why", when we yearn to see more than just the empty sky, and when innocence becomes a stranger, we are indeed in danger,
of embracing an earnest lie--about an endless light that shines so bright, of a love that ends our fright, of gods and realms that hold us tight.
Debased by the regularities of grief, by cosmic mischief, by their sanity's thief, and by the thought that they are mere meat-bag sheaf, the pious seek to end a dark apprehension, to feel and praise a beautiful mosaic beyond their comprehension.
A lie for which we long, propels us into that which is surely false, and worse, morally wrong. Though the facts we may fiercely rue, there are few things more wicked, than to hide from what is true. Though it seeks to shield us from that which makes our souls bleed, it is still only a mindless creed. And indeed, it is a treason to Her Reason, an infectious conviction without proper acquisition, a shared deception by belief, in the hope of relief-- for it is known, it has been shown, that when Big Claims commence, there's no evidence. To ease the fears in Our Race, we hide what's plain from our face, but in humble introspection, we see a crime of mixed intention.
This is what Her Reason insists, and yet a ruthless dilemma still persists: for such judgment to hold true, in any world there could be, must there be a deeper glue, just behind what mortals see?
of embracing an earnest lie--about an endless light that shines so bright, of a love that ends our fright, of gods and realms that hold us tight.
Debased by the regularities of grief, by cosmic mischief, by their sanity's thief, and by the thought that they are mere meat-bag sheaf, the pious seek to end a dark apprehension, to feel and praise a beautiful mosaic beyond their comprehension.
A lie for which we long, propels us into that which is surely false, and worse, morally wrong. Though the facts we may fiercely rue, there are few things more wicked, than to hide from what is true. Though it seeks to shield us from that which makes our souls bleed, it is still only a mindless creed. And indeed, it is a treason to Her Reason, an infectious conviction without proper acquisition, a shared deception by belief, in the hope of relief-- for it is known, it has been shown, that when Big Claims commence, there's no evidence. To ease the fears in Our Race, we hide what's plain from our face, but in humble introspection, we see a crime of mixed intention.
This is what Her Reason insists, and yet a ruthless dilemma still persists: for such judgment to hold true, in any world there could be, must there be a deeper glue, just behind what mortals see?
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