When all else fails, when silence descends
the world comes alive again in the magic
and mayhem of modern mysteries, the
marvels of crop circles in England
The unending debates, the suspicion
that the universe is so much bigger than
limited sensory evidence can reveal, the
comedies played by hard-core materialists
Trying to anchor themselves to the smallness
of human retina vision, limiting life to the marks
of miniature quarks left in large hadron colliders,
their skepticism that leaves them without the power
To discern any unexpected evidence of otherworldly
dimensions, I prefer being a dreamer who believes
in unseen spiritual spheres rather than sinking into
the black hole of eternal cynical skepticism
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