Werelemur's Lair

One of my older and longer poems this time. I'm a hard core agnostic tilting towards atheism, so this is as spiritual as I ever get. It's one of my semi-structured poems with tight metre and loose rhyme.

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Faith's a brain virus, so I've heard it said,
harder than smallpox to eliminate.
Leading to genocide, to bombs and blood,
spawning fanaticism, war and hate.

Yet we need something as a plan for life.
A simple plan, not hard to grasp for we
are not great scientists and we cannot see
God in the details of the universe.

Some, not caught up with surfaces, do see.
Raising themselves above the froth of thought,
the fuss of living, the white noise of work,
of hunger, debt, appointments, illness, doubt,

they glimpse the underlying shape of life
and wonder at its intricacy, as do
the scientists, the great thinkers, who explain
carefully to the rest of us how fine

and perfectly constructed it all is;
atoms hum in their courses and the great
expiring breath of matter races out,
pouring its wave into infinity.

But this is not what most of us perceive;
we see duality, not the world complete.
Born raw, our senses register extremes,
happy or wailing, hungry or replete.

Mastering these inner selves in time we learn
some integration, but the ancient split
remains within, looming at times of fear
and pain, to colour all things black or white.

Are we hardwired for two-ness from the egg?
DNA spiralling double in all cells,
from the brain's hemispheres to our arms and legs,
mirrored, divided, coiled upon ourselves.

Is this why we so often lean towards
faiths patterned on our infant, binary self?
Faiths which have good and evil, us and them,
saviours and demons, heaven and the flames of hell.

Unreasonable faiths, illogical.
Impervious to experiment, closed to science.
Smugly triumphant over rational proofs,
wielding their lack of reason like a prize.

Set against this crusade of blinkered faith
the few who see beyond simplistic lies
try to convince us of a greater truth
lodged in a grain of sand, a drift of stars.

Kepler defined the solar system's gears
trying to bend geometry to make clear
the music of the spheres, the planets' dance.
I wish that I, like physicists, could hear

the resonance of numbers, the great song
of mathematics' elegant discourse
distilling crystalline proofs which demonstrate
God in the details of the universe.

But I have problems adding up my tax.
Stumbling on long division, I am deaf
to physics. Still I try to find that core
reality beyond the dust my life

kicks up, looking beyond the wood into
the trees, intricate, fractal, various,
infinitely different, yet their whole may show
God in the details of the universe.

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Looking good!