Does life to anyone really make sense?
Or is all of mankind, really this dense?
God offers his wisdom and truth to man,
Yet it still seems we seldom understand.
Are we blinded by reason, and logic?
Surely, it’s not genes or biologic?
While meditating on things I don’t know,
It came to me; the culprit is ego.
Its goal is to always self-edify,
Secretly cloaking what’s seen with the eye.
The illusion creates a false belief,
The deception ends up, leading to grief.
To receive God’s truth, just look through his eyes,
To know the truth, just reject ego’s lies.
Scientific medley of most moronic biologic
Miss the point of spirit moving on the water
Breeze like thunder not specific just terrific
Bigger bang to crystallize your set of eyes
To see your holographic morphed reality
For you and me all temporary but enlightened
Bright beyond belief we all attuned to energy
The scope of all we see a panorama in a moment
Third dimension projection of your reality
Advancement..
Farther of medicine mention asGREEK HIPPOCRSTES.
However earth and sky .have no gods.
We collect and use medicines by try and error..
When there new spices of drugs and chemist we mix them into
outtake bloods or cells to find the desire phenomenons or not.
Also before we use them to human we test ite properties and strength
just by giving them to other animals.
Caues of disease can access us so bad.
Just diassembled are ways of china tyranny.
Herbs for then should must be assembly.
Deals with anatomy and medical ethics should have
best for regard.
Who may success as pacify if they cure the bad guys or
the dirt.
Hippocratic oaths must fulfill for bring some luck to patient.
Pledge beneficial treats for health are rather rich or not.
Thou obligations are ways of doctors that are moral needed.
Biologic fields can deal with bodily structures also psyche minds.
There are body functions also mental functions are those for regards.
By what labyrinthine repetitions,
by what agile, precise divisions,
by what accretions, do we compile
a life's arcane hieroglyphs,
its subtle, unmathematic mysteries?
What cold calculus shall we yet invent
to construct the introspective model?
What distribution curve, what standard deviation,
shall predict the time remaining 'tll we exist
entirely in a universe of our own creation?
Shall we make of stars mere red-shifted
spectral lines on photographic plates?
Will heartache be reduced to sine waves,
mapped by styli on graduated rolls
revolving in precise concurrence
with computed average biologic rates?
Shall we expunge the record from the file,
shall we precipitate a system crash?
What key will be called escape and which restore?
What impulse may span the neural gap,
what synapsis presage what deity?
And will there be a world left to explore?
Will we stop to soliloquize?
What obeisance shall we require?
Piety is no mark of barren earth and rocks,
nor of sterile wind and raging fire.
You say you're my father
but you by no means act like one
You don't know what I deal with
You don't know what I do with my day
You never even know where I am
At this point you don't really have a right to know
You come up with moments
that you try to be my father
and I just look at you in disgust
You need to be there from the beginning
to know where I am now
You're not even around enough
to know I have a boyfriend
So biologic mean nothing
You have to at least be there to be a father
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