| Four pails of water and a bagfull of salts.
|
| That is all we are, that is all a man comprises,
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| Chemicals alone, with no spirit, soul or ghost —
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| Nothing so bizarre.
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| No amount of faith disguises
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| What is true is what we fear the most
|
| Nothing can survive
|
| Save the things men leave behind them.
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| Any other case would be really too absurd —
|
| If thoughts remained alive
|
| Surely modern science would find them?
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| No, the soul is nothing but a word.
|
| All the wonders Man achieves
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| Emerge from cerebral tissue.
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| Chemical reactions' ebb and surge
|
| Form that Thing that is you…
|
| It’s a sad philosophy,
|
| But better sad than wrong.
|
| Face the truth instead:
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| When you’re dead you’re dead,
|
| When you’re gone you’re gone…
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| Now she’s gone.
|
| Four pails of water and a bagfull of salts.
|
| That is all she was, all my lover represented —
|
| That sounds just as mad as saying she will never die.
|
| Fools may clutch at straws
|
| But truth must not be circumvented:
|
| As the tree falls, so must that tree lie!
|
| Now that sounds so odd…
|
| Once I would have preached it brightly.
|
| Now questions appear I rationally can’t ignore…
|
| Nothingness or God,
|
| Which of them seems more unlikely?
|
| Once I would have answered clearly,
|
| Now I only think I’m nearly sure.
|
| (Chris Judge Smith |