A monk with no god
The monk looked down at his tattered sandals.
He wondered if he could climb the high woody hill.
He shrugged and began the arduous climb.
From up high he surveyed the landscape,
And the sea beyond. Above was the vast sky.
No clouds to hamper his upward vision.
The universe was eternally infinite.
Who created it? God? The big bang? Who knows?
There should be a reality as to its creation.
God’s power would have been complex:
Both immanent and beyond it, transcendent.
What proof had he? Creation could be anything.
He got up and began his descendant.
His mind a fog of truism and fallacies.
After all, he was a monk with no god.
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