Are we but dust on the carpet of time, endlessly recycled;
regenerated with as little meaning; forever busy
forming meaningless creations of insignificance?

Religions form to give us meaning; eternal value,
yet are mere human creations; human conventions,
our agreements to see worth in our invention.

Yet surely there is more than this; a different reality
surely there is, beyond our sight, value and reality
surely the endlessness of existence has significance.

We can not live without hope of divinity,
of eternal value to our actions, of self-worth.
We must believe in what we do; what we are.

Is religion then a mere support for our insecurity
a noose to tie us to the tree of life, strangling reality
whilst giving some meaning to what we do?

Does truth lie beyond our franchise, truth inscrutable
or is reality only what we are and see today
without ultimate meaning, eternally unvalued?


Can we in our simple existence unearth eternity
explain the why and when and how, and whither
Can we in our simplicity, know God?