Awe!
"Science is not only compatible with spirituality; it is a profound source of spirituality."
-Carl Sagan
I was a strict stripling. I stood for the stars and stripes, Be them still or rippling. I spoke sedulously and sparingly, Stomaching neither stammer nor tripe. Still, your sermon sent me shocked and staring; A stutter I did utter.
It was a spindly, splintery ship, And shortly it swiftly sunk; Now I spurn what I sanctioned as bunk, Instead I solemnize scholarship. A star shifted to a quasar.
I've a sundry of spectacular scripts, And strenuous schemes to satisfy. Surely my silly stereotype was stripped; Scientifically, I've been skeptically sanctified. I sighed, and sin died.
I see you often. I scrutinize your sayings. I strain and scramble, I strive to seek your sound, sage arraying. My sense is in shambles! My soul, my life, is strife.
Shake! Rattle! Roll! This I can scarcely surmise; Those sable shadows sifted away, But stark shrapnel survives! How does it go, this stabbing memento?
Scathing leech; I was sanguine 'till you spited my speech! I've stretched my stint, I've strengthened; So how do you sustain this singular aberration? Tell me, And spare me the sparring uphill. Tell me, When I speak of you, why do I stutter still?
I was a strict stripling. I stood for the stars and stripes, Be them still or rippling. I spoke sedulously and sparingly, Stomaching neither stammer nor tripe. Still, your sermon sent me shocked and staring; A stutter I did utter.
It was a spindly, splintery ship, And shortly it swiftly sunk; Now I spurn what I sanctioned as bunk, Instead I solemnize scholarship. A star shifted to a quasar.
I've a sundry of spectacular scripts, And strenuous schemes to satisfy. Surely my silly stereotype was stripped; Scientifically, I've been skeptically sanctified. I sighed, and sin died.
I see you often. I scrutinize your sayings. I strain and scramble, I strive to seek your sound, sage arraying. My sense is in shambles! My soul, my life, is strife.
Shake! Rattle! Roll! This I can scarcely surmise; Those sable shadows sifted away, But stark shrapnel survives! How does it go, this stabbing memento?
Scathing leech; I was sanguine 'till you spited my speech! I've stretched my stint, I've strengthened; So how do you sustain this singular aberration? Tell me, And spare me the sparring uphill. Tell me, When I speak of you, why do I stutter still?
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puffin
I'm a very busy physics major who writes "poetry" sometimes. I'm really into dadaism and the artistic revolution of the 1960s, and, cringey though it may sound, I think there should be a revival of that movement, which may be why I stick around here sometimes. It may be worth mentioning that I'm an atheist; I appreciate your religious sentiment, but all you'll get back from me is humanly good will.
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