The Man:
Abstract pontifications useless to a pragmatic mind
The point of this life is to enjoy it moderately well
Religion sensibility good, but not too passionate, lest it bind
Don’t think now boy, you’ve got a life to sell
Son, why is your head always in the clouds?
Can’t you see life down yonder
Don’t you want to make your old man proud?
What is the sense of senseless wonder?
The Child:
There is sense in wonder for all of humanity’s sake
We must confront our reality, intelligible or absurd
From our phantoms, atoms and impressions, meaning we must take
Our taste for beauty, never satisfied, always matured
The world charged with grandeur to me
Wonder in every creature till life departs
My father, how in the world can’t you see
Fingerprints from the artist all over His art?
The martyrs wrote this in their blood
Monkish philosophers in their ink
Saintly hearts this path have trod
So despair we would not sink
So I ask you father with your life
Is the Christ dead- or is he alive?
Is religion the fabric of truth
Or a hideous damning lie