There always comes a time when one
Feels the need to strive for that overtly epic feel,
That grandiose level of detachment,
That depreciative appreciation of inanimate response.
You call for forgiveness and fortuitous accounts
To redeem your failing humanity,
To exorcise the tumults of gratuitous despair
That burden even the greatest of minds.
The guilt with which I ponder such matters
Oft shatters my own pertinent illusions and
Perverse lustre as I’ve realised that
I’m little more than a passing thought,
An idle whisper and a disproved theory,
Now some may find that I lack the requisite sincerity
To be so blatantly honest.
For I’m known as something of an intellectual respite,
The shadow of a gunman whose aim remains true
Yet whose heart remains callous.
But in spite of this I persevere,
Laying claim to opportunistic sonatas
Crafted by unsure gentlemen whose lust for life
Has not yet wandered from their dreams.
Yet I still talk of saving souls, forgiveness
And the eternal morality that my catholic upbringing
Has bestowed so readily upon my person
Or more specifically my spiritual persona.
It may seem foolish to say that the optimistic atheist
Has all the righteous anger of a fundamentalist Christian
But one could do worse than denying these relative disasters.
The secular world although prosperous
Lacks that intangible mystique the more
Antiquated societies have retained in abundance.
For every digitally implemented wonder we possess
They remain astutely reassured by the effervescent idealism
That is not to be confused with the rather delicate order
That most of the frugally faithful adhere to.
This spiritual catharsis is as I speak an almost
Reactionary force against not only those who do believe
But it also sits juxtaposed and personified against the fervent naysayer
Whose great belief in disbelief acts
As an unlikely contradiction,
Proof as if we ever needed it to discern
That logic has no place in the
Understanding of human behaviour.
You may think it ignorant of me to completely abandon logic
In what could be called a quest for one’s worth
But I find that it’s important to trample cliché underfoot
For if we all followed the same messiah either literally
Or figuratively we’d disapprove of the delinquent diversity
Of life that has forged our world’s delights.
However there does remain one last aesthetic junction
That I have not yet questioned and that my friends,
Remains as always
The certainty of chance.
Feels the need to strive for that overtly epic feel,
That grandiose level of detachment,
That depreciative appreciation of inanimate response.
You call for forgiveness and fortuitous accounts
To redeem your failing humanity,
To exorcise the tumults of gratuitous despair
That burden even the greatest of minds.
The guilt with which I ponder such matters
Oft shatters my own pertinent illusions and
Perverse lustre as I’ve realised that
I’m little more than a passing thought,
An idle whisper and a disproved theory,
Now some may find that I lack the requisite sincerity
To be so blatantly honest.
For I’m known as something of an intellectual respite,
The shadow of a gunman whose aim remains true
Yet whose heart remains callous.
But in spite of this I persevere,
Laying claim to opportunistic sonatas
Crafted by unsure gentlemen whose lust for life
Has not yet wandered from their dreams.
Yet I still talk of saving souls, forgiveness
And the eternal morality that my catholic upbringing
Has bestowed so readily upon my person
Or more specifically my spiritual persona.
It may seem foolish to say that the optimistic atheist
Has all the righteous anger of a fundamentalist Christian
But one could do worse than denying these relative disasters.
The secular world although prosperous
Lacks that intangible mystique the more
Antiquated societies have retained in abundance.
For every digitally implemented wonder we possess
They remain astutely reassured by the effervescent idealism
That is not to be confused with the rather delicate order
That most of the frugally faithful adhere to.
This spiritual catharsis is as I speak an almost
Reactionary force against not only those who do believe
But it also sits juxtaposed and personified against the fervent naysayer
Whose great belief in disbelief acts
As an unlikely contradiction,
Proof as if we ever needed it to discern
That logic has no place in the
Understanding of human behaviour.
You may think it ignorant of me to completely abandon logic
In what could be called a quest for one’s worth
But I find that it’s important to trample cliché underfoot
For if we all followed the same messiah either literally
Or figuratively we’d disapprove of the delinquent diversity
Of life that has forged our world’s delights.
However there does remain one last aesthetic junction
That I have not yet questioned and that my friends,
Remains as always
The certainty of chance.
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