That we can know what’s true or not;
From cataclysms to banalities
(Volcanoes or a drip of snot).
Reality presents solutions
Except, of course, to Lilliputians
Who preach, when things get really odd,
They must be called an act of God.
But God’s the archetype of fiction
Who was created in the days
When we lived in primeval haze
And cowered for His benediction.
But praying to what isn’t real
Is still, now, our Achilles’ heel.