Until we are dead, to believe or not believe is a matter of faith.  My own examination through my life points toward great evidence for God and Christianity.  Other equally intelligent people have reached other conclusions.  Life is funny that way.  Funnier still, to me, is the number of people unwilling to allow others to exercise the free will to self determination that God has granted us all.  This poem is a small attempt at discussing the subject from certain aspects.

Alien Revelation
by Michael Romani

The atheist speaks of initiation
Given through Copernican revelation
That humanity sits meaningless on this dot
And from this perspective, we are not a lot

Gone is the made in God's image dream
With it has left the specialness of being a human being
The bite of this apple has brought its realization
That we don't even experience intrinsic relation

The universe exists as a string of variables
Useful speak introduced in parables that resemble 
Something close to a useful equation
While with warped speed we live in our fascination

Even Oxford argues that we in our humanity
Are a Goldilocks Zone sort of rarity
As we scan the spectra finding nothing
Phoning home with newfound songs to sing

Failing to accept the study probability
The atheist falsely proclaims answers with certainty
Even where the search for alien life hasn't completely
Been resolved, the atheist prefers a galaxy that is empty

Than to consider what is seen as only ancient stories
Believing instead in myths that don't surrender to glories
That lend themselves to belief in a God breathed universe
Decidedly believing this relationship would be worse

True science relies on going where the evidence shows
Not shying away from forbidden truth that flows
Dogma to the contrary, a cup's worth has significance
Here in our galaxy's garden there is no insignificance

Our arrival in this post-secular world of drama
Conceives of intelligence beyond a rendezvous with Rama
Man's intelligence becoming our own god of awe
As native intelligence becomes the end all, be all

Without the other, there is little to forge identity
Instead, we lock ourselves up in our singularity
Who do we have to tell us who we are 
As we reach our hands to Heaven and the stars

(c) August 11, 2018  Michael Romani
All Rights Reserved