God's enveloping cloud of unknowing
Is constant with Plank's cloud of probability,
And creation succumbs to the scalar field
Of Higgs' aether and the dark side.
Beguine:
What mortals these fools be
That meddle in the affairs of neutrinos
While the red-shift of war rains
Unperturbed through psychic barriers.
We who carry on the struggle to ken
Must renew a lonesome path each living,
For no baby comes equipped at birth
With anything but ignorance, not bliss.
So are some turned, away from the light,
From clarity -- scientific pursuit of the Truth
Which Lies Inside -- pausing instead to suck
Impossible being from false vacuums of myth.
To do good, to do evil, to be or not,
There is no being in either morality;
Not for God in his pre-bang,
Or man in his shifting eternity.
We judge the user, not the used, for
Purpose comes with the choice, and
The instrument chooses nothing, while
Man spites predisposition and free will alike.
And so, my friends in knowledge, climb
Down from your towers, pick up the bullhorn,
Spread your words like solar flares
And do not shrink from death to isolation.
The world, though doomed to struggle,
Lies vulnerable to those whose easy hearsay
Traps children in fairytale bigotry battles,
Casting each other to the depths of despair.
Bring to the fray your discoveries and realization;
Choose Prometheus' pain over Daedalus' misery,
And guide us all through the maze of human frailty,
To tunnel in quantum time toward agnostic certainty.
