We spoke of gods, so long ago when
By night round fires we sat with spears of stone
And ivory fashioned in morbid primeval chains
To the beat of the drums and the sound of the earth by moonlight.
Yet even now, when past those times
We have progressed, to a higher plane
of something, just what, god only knows,
we speak of them still; just what is it we seek?
Whatever it is, it matters less
Than even the weight of the world itself
Than the burden of human suffering alone
Itself, a mote in the eye of the grand scheme of it all.
For how many others, out there in the stars
Also speak of gods?
How many are there that cannot see
The truth in the non-purpose, the beautiful complexity.
The spirit of the universe is nothing more
Than an enchanting dance of matter and energy.
-Shashank
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