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[PoeticUniverse]

This thread is to inspire. Add to it if you like or just enjoy the philosophies herein or put whatever comes to mind.

INTO THE LANDS OF THE GODS

Towards the Gods Far and Unknown

My reverie took flight, with autumn’s sight,
For I was abstracted, entranced, and light.

I beamed to the site suffused with insight—
The solutions are deep within the mind,
Reachable by dreams of the lucid kind.

I flew south from my home, in New Hamburg,
Over the Hudson river, toward Newburgh,
Past Chelsea, and the great Storm King Mountain—
On philosophical aspiration.

A wake of leaves trailed behind, like a stream,
While I gathered clues, through my musing means.
My design, in this vaporous pipe dream,
Was to converse with all the Gods who seemed.

If Fishkill’s and Peekskill’s murderous names
Had not been token enough, there soon came
A sequence of locales that seemed to be
Ominous in their triple proximity.

First was Sleepy Hollow, the haunted land
Of the gambols of the headless horseman,
Then the Gate of Heaven Cemetery,

And the surprising Town of Valhalla—
A bright afterlife of an old-time place,
Of shops built right up against the road race.

I stopped to rest, well away from the maze,
Dazzled by the lustrous autumnal haze,
In a warm day’s musk, before twilight dusk,
Near shining gates, toward the unearthly sod
Of the refulgent Graveyard of the Gods.

Over the stream, there was an arched bridge thrown.
Then I knew I’d gone beyond the known:
For in that span, each piece was a keystone.

I questioned two luminous angel goths,
“Where be the mythic Graveyard of the Gods?”

They looked askance, then smiled and pointed past,
“It’s just beyond the Land of Epitaphs.”

…

[PoeticUniverse]

Tombstone Remembrances

The cemetery was where the ducks were fed,
Where two friends feasted on wine, verse, and bread,
Amidst the flowered trees and quiet streams—
The home for both the living and the dead.

We lived at once, aware that life was dear,
Oft smiling at Heaven and Hell without fear;
Yes, we had some laughs, gave true love, and made
Life better—for it was now and we were here.

Here the grave-sign of The Four Elements:
From the fires of stars to those of the cremation,
He has breathed, flourished, and dissolved:
Life is ashes to ashes, stardust to stardust.

Of airy winds, vapors, and a soft earth,
He rests, at last, under the spinning skies,
Those of Earth’s sunny days and starry nights.

The Symphony of Life plays for the dead:
All that we know, even the loveliest of the best,
Decomposes into the dust of earth compressed.
The songs once composed now lie in repose;
Of this dust the future rearranges to recompose.

En-graved is ‘THE END’ of your Earthly sigh:
Six sides ‘round you: five are dirt, one is sky.
Shov’ling, Death talks to you at last, and says:
“What were you doing during all of nigh?”

From Heaven’s stars came our dust eterne;
Time’s seas nurtured thee and thine in turn.
From time, death, and dust we thus became,
And by this, thus, and that we must return.

What would be the price of a moment’s breath
Purchased from Death’s hand at the final hour?
All the world’s wealth can’t extend the power
That drains the cup and withers the flower.

The light of Heav’n did the Earth illumine,
When He shaped human nature’s acumen.
Temptations He then placed everywhere,
But He’ll punish us for being human!

The wings of time are checkered black and white,
As fluttering ‘round the day flies the night.
Like chess pieces, we gamely play for life,
Until into the box we return, quite!

Now my cup was nearly empty and done;
There was left but one last drop for the sun
To drink, or with which to make rivers run:
Its flavor burst in joy—my life was won!

Not all poems are pleasant—some speak of death,
Of life’s end, separate by just a breath.
I saw tombstones overgrown, under swept,
Names unknown—and to all the message saith:

Read Me, it said, engraved beyond the brink,
You, who live, up above: of life go drink;
And you, underneath, now lying so dead:
Rest in peace, RELAX—it’s later than you think!

Refreshed, I wandered among the tombstones,
Under which rested little more than bones,
Where from the life had fled when dreams were dead,
Which under me became life’s stepping stones.

I’ll play the game and roll the earthly dies,
And through this worldly life enjoy the prize;
If Earth is Hell for love’s adventurers,
Then I wish no more for God’s Paradise.

Good and evil were wrought from wrong and right,
When, of nought, twin genii split day and night.
Some may think that black’s might can vanquish white,
But night can’t even quench the smallest light!

Every-thing, every order happens for a reason.
Yes, for the most part, for most seasons,
But not for the bottommost cause the first,
For there was nothing before it to direct it forth.

Youth and Beauty made agèd Winter mourn,
For Summer’s grain—the waving wheat and corn;
For Old Autumn, withered, wan, had passed on,
Leaving the Earth a widow, weather worn.

At first, you sleep in your dear mother’s womb;
At last, you sleep in Earth’s cold silent tomb.
In between, Life whispers a dream that says
Wake, live, for the rose withers all too soon!

Waste not the time of your life in gloom’s doom!
By these verses, your lamp of life relume:
Your live body, full of warmth and bloom,
Is worth ten thousand lying in the tomb.

Art and poetry enrich human experience,
But they’re no substitutes for the living of it.
Like Keats’ figures on the urn, should we live life less?
No, because what is deathless is also lifeless!

[Nick_A]

This thread is to inspire. Add to it if you like or just enjoy the philosophies herein or put whatever comes to mind.

INTO THE LANDS OF THE GODS

Towards the Gods Far and Unknown

My reverie took flight, with autumn’s sight,
For I was abstracted, entranced, and light.

I beamed to the site suffused with insight—
The solutions are deep within the mind,
Reachable by dreams of the lucid kind.

I flew south from my home, in New Hamburg,
Over the Hudson river, toward Newburgh,
Past Chelsea, and the great Storm King Mountain—
On philosophical aspiration.

A wake of leaves trailed behind, like a stream,
While I gathered clues, through my musing means.
My design, in this vaporous pipe dream,
Was to converse with all the Gods who seemed.

If Fishkill’s and Peekskill’s murderous names
Had not been token enough, there soon came
A sequence of locales that seemed to be
Ominous in their triple proximity.

First was Sleepy Hollow, the haunted land
Of the gambols of the headless horseman,
Then the Gate of Heaven Cemetery,

And the surprising Town of Valhalla—
A bright afterlife of an old-time place,
Of shops built right up against the road race.

I stopped to rest, well away from the maze,
Dazzled by the lustrous autumnal haze,
In a warm day’s musk, before twilight dusk,
Near shining gates, toward the unearthly sod
Of the refulgent Graveyard of the Gods.

Over the stream, there was an arched bridge thrown.
Then I knew I’d gone beyond the known:
For in that span, each piece was a keystone.

I questioned two luminous angel goths,
“Where be the mythic Graveyard of the Gods?”

They looked askance, then smiled and pointed past,
“It’s just beyond the Land of Epitaphs.”

…

Was that you flying around up there? I used to live in Valhalla so I know all those towns. New Hamburg is near Poughkeepsie. Years back I often worked as a musician in Squires Steakhouse. Those were some wild times. It no longer exists. Later on I had my mystical experiences in which I had my inner ass kicked and saw the light. A life changer.

[PoeticUniverse]

Was that you flying around up there? I used to live in Valhalla so I know all those towns. New Hamburg is near Poughkeepsie. Years back I often worked as a musician in Squires Steakhouse. Those were some wild times. It no longer exists. Later on I had my mystical experiences in which I had my inner ass kicked and saw the light. A life changer.

Yes, that was me. I vaguely remember Squire's Steakhouse. What was it called after that? Where do you live now? I am in New Hamburg near the train station.

[PoeticUniverse]

(Happy Angels, Demons, Spirits, and Halloween on the way to the Graveyard of the Gods)

[Nick_A]

Was that you flying around up there? I used to live in Valhalla so I know all those towns. New Hamburg is near Poughkeepsie. Years back I often worked as a musician in Squires Steakhouse. Those were some wild times. It no longer exists. Later on I had my mystical experiences in which I had my inner ass kicked and saw the light. A life changer.

Yes, that was me. I vaguely remember Squire's Steakhouse. What was it called after that? Where do you live now? I am in New Hamburg near the train station.

Practicing astral projection again. Squires was sold years ago. Now I live in Irvington. I used to have a nice business with nursing homes making residents happy but the pandemic ruined that so becoming more diversified by necessity.

You are good with poetry. I'm not but am good with ideas and humor. I'm beginning to try my hand at song writing for the country market. My gut feeling is that the way America is being lost to Marxism, freedom songs will become popular. All I would need is one hit to get a rep.

But, we are neighbors. Small world isn't it?

[PoeticUniverse]

I'm beginning to try my hand at song writing for the country market.

Here is the singing of 4 or 5 quatrains from Omar Khayyam:

So, you could sing some of my quatrains…

[PoeticUniverse]

Figmentations

Into supernatural figmentations,
I strode, through brilliant imagination,
To interview all the supposed Gods there—
Some no more and some ruling everywhere.

Notions of ‘God’ are of the wide purview
Of the inquiring mind confined—its ‘why’,
That wide expanse of fables, faith, hoaxes,
Lies, imaginations, fictions, guesses,

Foggy notions, concoctions, phantasms,
Fantasies, falsehoods, conceptions,
Decrees, fiats, misrepresentations,
Dead ideas, magic, proclamations,

Wild tales, anecdotes, revelations,
Untruths, revelations, hearsay, scrap heaps,
Yarns, and fish stories, stated as beliefs
In that unseeable supernatural station,
Through faith’s without knowledge ration;
These are all figmentations of the imagination.

Strewn about this great panoramic realm
Of the One possibly conceivable at the helm
Were all of the unknowable fabrications
Often dreamt up, via exaggerations,
By the human race of mammal sapiens.

The realm of such pronouncements has come to be
Superposed at the furthest edge of Reality,
Poised by the scope of some wishful thinking,
By all those dreaming and wild supposing,

Who wish for such legends to be ever
Actualized and realized; however,
These unknowns have never ever made it
Into our observable realistic habitat in any way,

They but remaining in the minds, joint,
Of the God-beholders—
Even as wildly varying viewpoints.

[PoeticUniverse]

The Graveyard of the Gods

Without so much much as a word to say,
I passed those to whom most no longer pray,
Nor believe in, but once did, namely,
Those of the tombstones now deemed unholy:
Astrology—the God of the stars that plod,
Eternally blazed and marbled in the sod,

Monuments of Diana the Moon God,
Druid Gods, Apollo, Baal, Zeus, Wotan,
Aphrodite, Mithras, Isis, Amon,
Poseidon, Thor, and on and on, anon—
Posed in the burial ground of the Gods.

I ever hurried past the ledgering
Of those older Mythologies preceding
The formation of the Old Testament story—
Those ancient superstitions whose very
And various olden amalgamations
Brought forth to form it whole for our salvation.

I paused at that Old Testament maligned,
To mark the old but lingering lines
Of the ‘knowing’ of more invisibles—
The beliefs in imagined Angelics:

There were angels standing, frozen in stone,
Over the timeworn memorials’ poems,
As well as atop the crumbling gateposts,
Cast as undying and near-living ghosts

Of the representations of the three spheres
Of the Heavenly host: the demigod-near
Seraphim, Cherubim, Ophanim,
Thrones, Principalities, Dominions,

Powers, Archangels, Angels, and, those final,
And the most useful—the Guardian Angels,
Who are said to protect children from harm.

There, Amaranth, its dead red leaves never
Fading on this Earth, unto forever,
Gave some color ‘round the graveyard pallor
And to the dateless headstones’ gray squalor.

There was a garish maroon view, on high,
Of streaking lights of an electromagnetic sky,
Heretofore never imagined by my self.
I strolled on, and into the vale itself.

To The Eternally Dead

Here lie the Gods, once so high,
Beneath an electromagnetic sky.

Lo!—the eternally marbled monuments
Of the Moon God, the Sun God (Apollo),
Baal, Zeus, Wotan, Aphrodite, Thor,
Mithras, Isis, Amon, Poseidon, Krishna,
The Druid Gods, and so many more.

Behold!—the ledger of those many Mythologies
That preceded, paraded, and then passed on.

Here they rest, the dead and long gone rhyme,
Adorned with the splendor of mouldering time.

[PoeticUniverse]

The Intelligent Designer

I approached a semitransparent,
Theistic Embellishment, quite well lit,
Who was holding out an eyeball—a shove
Of His hand for me to take note of.

“Who might you be?” He mimed,
“For I am the God of Intelligent Design,
The One who was made by the signs discerned,
When the creationists noted them all, unlearned.”

I answered, “I am Austin, Earth’s flower,
Although not ‘Powers’, but ‘Higher Powers’.”

“Ha. Lo, they saw inexplicable complexity in Nature,
And thus they leapt and promulgated that Nature
Must have a Grand Designer of its mechanical dance,
For how could life have come about by ‘chance’?”

I replied, “You’re right about ‘chance’s’ stance,
But wrong about ‘chance’ too, for little greatness,
If any at all, comes about by mere ‘chance’,

“Especially as some giant leap in one bound,
Up the sheer cliff-side of Mt. Improbable—
To find on its top a great complexity
Of something like the eye that You show me;

“However, it is actually an error to suppose
That ‘Chance’ is the scientific alternative
To Intelligent Design, for that’s quite negative.

“Natural Selection is the means of the design,
For it, unlike a one-shot ‘chance’, being not in kind,
Is a cumulative effect that ever winds,
And slowly and so gently climbs

Around the mountain’s other side, behind the sight,
To eventually arrive at the great height
Of complexity—from which we can then view
The beautiful sights through our eye anew.”

“But the widespread Watchtower Zines
Always pronounce that the biological Designs
Were created by Me instead of by ‘chance’!

“Just look at these eyeballs—take a glance—
And the optic system hanging behind them!
How could that come about by ‘chance’, these gems?”

“You, like your followers, may listen,
But You do not hear, writing with untruth’s pen.
IDers deceive by this wrong approach,
Whether they mean to or not; I give reproach.

“‘Chance’ is not the opposite of Nature’s design;
Evolution of the Species through the graduality
Of Natural Selection is the path to complexity;
Your ploy falls as flat as an imaginary line.

“A flatworm has but an optical system’s spark
That can only sense but light and dark;
Thus it sees no image, not even a part;

“Whereas Nautilus has a ‘pinhole camera’ eye
About as good as half a human eye
That sees but very blurry shapes;
Thus these are examples of intermediate stages.

“‘Rome’ can not be built in a day by ‘chance’;
‘Chance’ is not a likely designer at all!

“Really now, could a 747 ever be
Assembled by a hurricane blowing free
Through Boeing’s warehouse of all the parts?
Now is this the sum of Your conversational art?”

“No, Austin—it’s quite unlikely—’tis just to confuse,
And that’s why we always so misleadingly use
The 747 argument as the contrast to ID…

“So then, Austie, ‘chance’ and Intelligent Design
Are not the two candidate solutions we’ll find
To the riddle posed by the improbable?
It’s not like a jackpot or nothing at all?”

“‘God’, Your ID ideas persist, as repetition,
But again, ‘chance’, for one, is not a solution
To the highly improbable situated Nature,
And no sane anti-creationist, for sure,
Ever said that it was; your tale is impure.

“Intelligent Design, is neither a solution—
Because it raises a much bigger question
Than it solves, as You will soon see, in a lesson.”

“Well, I’ll be darned,” replied the Designer.
“Natural selection is a good answer;

“It is a very long and summative process,
One which breaks up the problem’s mess
Of improbability into smaller pieces, less,
Each of which is only slightly improbable,

“But not prohibitively so, thus it’s reasonable,
As the product of all the little steps of which
Would be far beyond the reach of chance—it’s rich!

“The creationists have been looking askance,
Seeing only the end product, perchance,
Thinking of it as a single event of chance,
Never even understanding
The great power of accumulation.

“Such they didn’t know much else—their fall,
Not having any other natural ideas at all,
So they outright claimed that ID did it, as the Tree
That can magically grow the All, namely Me.”

“So ‘God’ You have now seen the light
Of the accumulative power’s might;
This is the elegance of Evolution’s ‘sight’.”

“Yes but what is to become of Me, the Person,
For I only ‘exist’ through their speculation.

“In fact, the improbability of Me is so High,
And so much more so from where I lie so ‘sure’,
Compared to that of ‘simple’ Nature,
That My own origin…”

“…Is a near-infinitely Larger dilemma, Mate,
For the creationists—the problem they love to hate;
That being that You, therefore, can only be explained
By another, Higher Intelligent Designer claimed!

“Far from terminating the endless regress,
They’ve aggravated it with a vengeance
That is way beyond repair or redress—
As beyond could ever be yonder of! Out west!”

With that, the poor Guy faded toward oblivion,
Which remarkably was the very location
I was visiting, but hence he soon reappeared,
Although in another guise, but quite well attired.

[God created Adam, then Eve, of Adam’s rib,
Both fully formed, imbued with God’s knowledge
And memories of times that never were,
Such as childhood.]

[They believed a shifty talking snake,
Ate the verboten fruit,
And were cast out, to fend for themselves,
God being quite surprised at their sin…]

[PoeticUniverse]

The God of Irreducible Complexity

“Hello, Austino; it’s time for more perplexity,
For I am now the God of Irreducible Complexity.”

“That you are, being the unmade All,
And so it shall become your downfall.”

“Eh? I’m never to be at all?”

“Your believers have given You some fine new clothes:
But Intelligent Design is falsely based, God knows,
On Irreducible Complexity—
So I still recognize You as the God of ID.”

“That I am is what I really am now.”

“Well, Darwin said long ago that his theory
Would break down if Irreducible Complexity
Were shown to be true, and yet
No proposal has ever stood up to the analysis.”

“Still, here I am, Mr. A, alive merely by possibility,
Myself indeed quite complex, even irreducibly,

“For “I am the be all and end all—the Prime Maker,
And so I keep tabs on every form and splinter
Of the Universe, planning its every constituent
That I designed. So then, simple I am NOT.

“Yes, man, I am an extremely complicated System,
Yet I have no parts, for then My parts that stemmed
Would be even more fundamental than Me!”

“Yes, ‘God’, if You existed you would surely be
Very very very complex, irreducibly so…”

“…So…”

“…So, by the Creationist Theory, such as it must be,
You cannot be explained except by a larger ID.”

“I’m falling…”

“…Into the hole that they dug for you.”

[PoeticUniverse]

The God of the Gaps

Yet another Theity appeared, out of the mist.

“I am the God of the Gaps, of all those missed.
I Myself personally fill in all the gaps withstanding,
In the present-day knowledge of non understanding,

“Albeit a very large and unwarranted assumption,
But I surely do fill them all in—via the fiat lent
To Me by the creationist’s fine endorsement.”

“These gaps shrink as science advances anew.”

“And so there is less and less for Me to do.”

“What worries me is not so much that You
May be eventually laid off, having nothing to do,
But that those of Religion think it is a virtue
To be satisfied with not understanding a quandary;
Enigmas drive scientists on—they exult in mystery.”

“True, My believers exult in mystery
Remaining as mystery and so they go no further,
But it keeps Me from being history!
They worship all these evolutionary gaps as being Me.”

“With no justification?”

“We have a ‘get out of jail free’ card—a vocation;
It’s an immunity to
The rigorous proofs of science;
We just claim by the ‘say so’.
All must respect that stance.”

“You lead a charmed life then,
One with no faults,
But You seek ignorance
In order to claim victory by default,
As a weed thriving in the gaps
Of science’s fertile fields.

“Scientists rejoice in (temporary)
Uncertain yields,
Whereas You halt all inquiry.”

“I remain as a mystery.”

“You’re the same God
Of Intelligent Design assumed—
Now known by a much more
Desperate nom de plume.”

“I repeat that I intervene
To fill the evolutionary gap.
I even alter DNA.”

“We could check the evidence for that.
We researchers fill the gaps in the fossil record.”

“Then there are twice as many gaps. Absurd.”

“I’d laugh, but I know You’re not joking.”

“No joke. Try what we’ve been smoking.
Lack of 100% complete documentation
Of Evolution means that I aid its motion.”

“‘God’, that is not a good default stance.”

“It’s an unknown happenstance.”

“So do we let criminals go
Because we don’t have a video
Of their every intermediate foot step
To and from the lawless event?”

“No, of course not, but we now have great worry
About our precariously perched gappy theory.

“Also, you made a typo—it’s a God default stance,
Certified by nothing more than proclamation
Of Our Bull of Decree covering all instantiation.”

“An edict, huh.”

“Why not, duh.”

“It was also once avowed that an Evil Spirit,
One that You Yourself allowed to exist,
Produced physical illnesses, on us weighing,
But, thank God—just an old saying—
That scientists persevered, and still do,

“Such as finding out the immune system’s zoo—
Our defense against the non evil spirits
Of germs, viruses, and bacterial fits.”

“Yes, agreed; that claim was dead wrong; take pills,
But evil spirits still cause the nonphysical mental ills
That are called sins and bad thoughts,
Even crimes of wills.”

“Still trying to halt scientific inquiry,
I see, for the burning.
Mental lapsing ‘sins’
Stem from upbringing, wrong learning,

“And/or low serotonin and
Such imbalances, needing cures,
Not to mention the differences in cultures,

“Such as other religions
Causing a problem of stability,
For people think this undermines
Their own belief’s credibility.”

“Okay, I give up for now, AustinTorn. Be.
Go on with your work, with My blessing,
To discover important truths about reality,
But some fossils are evidently missing!”

“Only a tiny fraction of corpses fossilize;
However, not even a single fossil guy
Has shown up in the wrong geological stratum;
How’s that for absolutely no erratum?”

“Well… it’s sad for Me, but true.
I’d still love to find wrong a few,
Like a fossil rabbit in the Precambrian.
I’d have planted one there if I existed then.”

“Dream on. Lazy reasoning is all that’s behind
These declarations of the irreducible complexity kind.”

“Yes, but all this ignorance, for sure,
Of the possible steps of Nature
Has kept Me forever alive,
Allowing Me to ever thrive.”

“And has just as soon forgotten You, in truth,
But for those sustaining your being without proof.”

“Wait, what about an arch of bricks?
I’ll try to use this one as a trick.

“Pull one away and the arch falls apart;
It cannot survive the subtraction of a part,
So how then was it built in the first place?
With this insight, I can win the human race.”

“By scaffolding, the same as seen in Evolution.”

“I was afraid that would be the solution.”

With that, the holely God of the Gaps separated
And nearly evaporated
To become a discontinuity Himself,
But the creationists gave Him help
By trying to hold Him together
With their ditch efforts.

(Yes, ‘gapping’ still goes on, it seems.
When the argument first gathered steam,
There were but a few transitional forms known,
Although good ones, enough for the idea to own,

One being the bridge to vertebrates
And another the bridge to flying creatures.
But there are many more now, a wide range,
So then it is the data that has changed.

These ‘gap’ arguments were already down
To the faint hope that scientists, as clowns,
Wouldn’t find any more natural explanations;
But the finds were the most inevitable situations.

Creationists yet remain at the pointward
Of not being able to ‘push forward’,
So all that’s left to is push backward,

Albeit at the firmly established fact words
Of evolution. Even the Pope concedes this
But tries to salvage the faith and solve,
By saying that the mind was not at all involved.)

“In the darkness I alit from the Wiz,
And tried to make sense of this world of His.
Now I’ve found the answer to life’s dark quiz:
One must live this life by what light there is.”

[Steve3007]

Just out of curiosity: Do you type these poems in live? Or do you copy and paste them from some kind of poetry book that you've written?

[PoeticUniverse]

Just out of curiosity: Do you type these poems in live? Or do you copy and paste them from some kind of poetry book that you've written?

I paste these long ones after checking them over and sometimes add a bit more. The long ones took months to make.

[PoeticUniverse]

The Deity

Another God appeared, a mere Deity,
Meaning no intervention, so He’s not a Theity,
And thusly said, “Forget the Theity solution.
I am the Smart God who seeded Evolution.

“It was I that set the whole universal notion
And all of life’s evolution into motion;
That was My elegant and foreseeing way
Of creating the kind of life that would stay.”

“I thought You were all powerful;
Why not just make 20-40 million species,
All fully formed, as immutable as Thee,
Along with their usable natural habitats,

“For this is how most Gods would do it.
What energy loss could that be to You?
Your infinity could all this in an instant do.”

“I’m not so Great, plus, since Evolution is too stable
For some creationists to scoff at, as a fable,
They have assigned the job to Me, the Creator,
As all of Nature’s natural Instigator,

“Because they must take retreat from the first ID God
Who zooms souls into humans at birth—it’s so odd.
So, now I am not a Theity any more of proof,
And thus I must ever remain aloof.

“Of course, now I have very little to do,
And so I am not much needed, true,
For I can’t even muddle with their lives;
They are all stuck now with their wives.

“I might really just as well retire,
For I am superfluous and tired.”

“Well, You’re still kind of close to our Universe,
Not completely outside it, the place the worst,
As I suppose your successor will have to be placed,
Absolutely, totally invisible to the human race.

“At least You made some
Basic primordial substance,
And foresaw the billion years
Of combinatorial chance,

“Predicting every turn,
Or at least knowing that something neat
Might probably come out of it,
Which was still quite a feat.”

“Thank you, but it was nothing.”

“On the contrary—I say verily—
You’re the Super Scientist,
An Engineer Par Excellence—
The Ultimate Inventor of All Time—
Much better than than the old God of ID.”

“Yes, I am a Scientist, making all that’s real—
I Had to be, but it was really no big deal.”

“You’re too modest.”

“It was just some little quarks,
And some electrons that I sparked,
And some forces that arose,
As reality was composed.”

“But look what became of its simplicity—
Through its stages, to astounding complexity,
Over billions of years of circumstances;
We’ve traced the composites to simple substances.”

“Well, um, it did really take that long for My intention,
By some coincidence, the same as that for evolution;

“However, I guess I’m just as surprised as you, frown,
That when some examine substance and get down
To these simple subatomic levels of unadorned things,

“That they then take a giant leap back, of all things,
To the composite complexity of Me, the Ultimate.”

“Isn’t complexity a much higher product
Of combination upon combination,
And thus not lower than simplicity itself?”

“Yes, it would seem so; that’s a near empty shelf.”

“Then I suppose You’re some Great Alien Scientist, odd,
Highly evolved from somewhere, but not really God.”

“True, and you, Austin, as a scientist,
Should seek what underlies the all,
Not some Great Complexity who oversees it,
For that’s for what the theory calls.”

“Wise thoughts.”

“The best that can’t be bought.”

“Well, whatever on the alien thing of it,
But the creationists are not keen on scientists,
For scientists regard the honest seeking after truth
As a supreme virtue beyond all reproof.

“If they ever found out…”

“Yikes, they know not what they have made Me.
As a Scientist Myself, I truly value honesty
And skepticism over the dishonestly faked beliefs,
Those that only seem to bring Rolaid’s relief.”

“The Founding Fathers of America liked You,
Although some of them, as Thomas Jefferson too
Were outright non theists, many seeing You as a Deity
Who just started things up,
never interfering with reality.”

“Funny how President Bush’s and Trump's America sings,
Straying so oppositely from its humble beginnings.”

“Not to mention that some the world’s peoples, really,
Are squandering their precious time
Worshiping a Theity, and sacrificing to Him,
Begging, fighting, and dying for Him,

“Even threatening the world with its destruction.”

“What a waste.”

“Are you real?”

“No, I am but a figment of imagination, see,
But some really do like harmless old Me.”

“So what’s really fundamental?”

“The real fundamentals, just below
What you now call ‘fundamentality’,
Have always existed—the quantum reality.”

“There’s perhaps no time of ‘forever’
At that level for Your ‘always’ ever.”

“True, they just are, and had to be—the possible,
For a state of absolute nothing is indeed impossible.”