Door
Atheism is the door to the religious heart
in all its unknown majesty, this surprising result
defies the synagogue, the steepled church
the preacher spitting hellfire at his frightened herd
the priest in robed finery, the communion cup
None walk more religious than biologist
astronomer, paleontologist
the chemist in her lab coat of fluorescent white
mixing samples in a beaker over heat
just before the next eureka
Not religion of the herd, checkmated
spirituality, the mental lies
of the believing mind desperate in its need
of certainty to savior self from death
but scientists stepping honestly across the years
opening windows to physic mysteries
The dark heart of atheism, where life is
unknown deep, runs strong and physical
where blood flows dark amid life unfathomed
and all the lies of mind, of disembodied spirit
lay exposed like spilled blood
that reddens in the light
(Sometimes the muse speaks truth no one wants to hear. Though controversial on all sides, atheism really is a door to the religious heart, and this poem dares say it.)
