In the shadow of
That High Tower
We still abide,
Between a Roman wall
And Earth's green fields
And otherworldly spires.
Pray for us, St. Dick,
Pray for us all
As we ponder every vision
From every Revelation
You had received
(Which, oddly enough, were
More theologically precise
Than the average
Schizophrenic fit).
Half-sentient though we be,
For consciousness is a slippery
thing
As we stumble through life
Like fleshy machines
With programs surely fried
By conflicting wants
And pinpricks of desire.
Cogito no ergo sum,
Ergo ego zoom
Vast are the hymns of
Active praise
Longingly sung to such
Infinite wisdom and
Saving grace.
Infinitely is the answer,
Which is why the questions
Are more profound.
Amen.
