Poetry is lyrical imagination,
The individual’s view
Of human nature and of reality.
It is there, where the atheist
Finds his way to God?
There I wallow in the momentary
What seems in itself sinful thought?
Betrayal of rationality?
I must return from the imagination
Of science, superimposed on shaky mathematics,
To other invented realities.
To my own.
Made up of my mind.
In the creation of my own imagined beauty.
There in my own truth, at higher than a numbers level.
But there still remains above that question of really knowing,
Why a world at all?
Joe Mangiamele January 15, 2014