Inquisitor
That starry Question-mark displayed upon the dark
Probes deeply my self-doubts with chill persistency.
How did we come to be?. What is the point of life?.
Is there a caring God?. Or Hell?. OrParadise?.
What should someone believe when all that is achieved,
After long decades of concerned and honest work,
Crumbles in seeming failure; dreams and intentions
Shattered and scattered like the inter-stellar dust?.
The Constellated Bear, my Grand Inquisitor,
Compels me reassess the Articles of Faith
On which I have relied these many years gone by
And makes demand of me that I should now confess:
Do I accept the truths that metaphysicals advance,
Or now recant in favour of a more agnostic stance?.
