Even the heathen is blessed,

Lamenting the loss of stability and certainty.

Observation is the obverse of faith

In all matters of eternity; and the universe.

 

Eventually I and all will come to naught

Least of all unnecessary battles sought, fought and lost.

Obsidian will be the obfuscated secrets

Inherent in this humanity.

 

Long ago, before the liacised labours of

A man could be manifest in marvelous miracles of

Manifold truths held

Against the auguries of ancient oracles felled,

 

Such views could not be veiled in truth

About this blind vision of all that is good,

Buttressed by the folly of youth.

Alone a man may fight the demons of his mind

Cajoled into the myth that life and love combined,

Have the power to unhinge the most stable psyche.

Teetering on the precipice of abject terror

He has but to acknowledge his error to

Attain better understanding. But this is

Not for me, or my fellow men. Dear Lord,

If only I could believe once again.