SimonD
Rouge Element
- Joined
- Oct 12, 2006
- Messages
- 1,092
Ballade of the New Prophet
In perfect circles, drawn by God,
The moon proceeds in stately style.
He measured it with golden rod
In even numbered statute miles.
When written down in holy tracts,
The numbers need not match the facts.
The sea of faith once girdled round,
But science plods while prophets slumber.
And since old Plato's time we've found
That neither gods nor chaos paint by number.
It's only in the holy tracts,
That numbers need not match the facts.
Though godless scoffers, dupes with cynic minds
Cast doubt on how the world is numbered,
The avid seeker somehow always finds,
When by dull doubt his mind is unencumbered.
And then he writes in holy tracts,
The numbers which belie the facts.
l'envoi:
So Prophet, ere you condescend
To call the Skeptic false and steeped in sin,
Accept my humble plea to comprehend
The simple rule of thumb that lies within:
There's little use in holy tracts,
If numbers do not match the facts.
Brilliant - well done



