Saturday, January 31, 2015


            There’s nothing supernatural I believe;
            What’s natural is mystery enough,
            Which science has the best means to conceive,
            Calling outrageous superstition’s bluff.

            It’s supposition that begins the quest
            For certain knowledge ultimately proved,
            As careful methodology will attest,
            Once skewed hypotheses have been removed.

            And yet there’s much that never may be known
            About which we may wonder endlessly
            Though not illuminate that twilight zone
            For all our vaunted ingenuity.

                One question causing human brains to stall
                Is this: Is there a purpose to it all?