Gods of the
Gaps
Simon
MacCulloch
As the Earth curves, so do they,
Too large to see; night and day
Mere flickers in their circularity,
The constellations wheeling with their play.
At their least whims, planets fry
Or freeze to death; live or die
According to the pressure of their breath;
A carousel where stars go whirling by.
When their strength fails, all is lost;
Within the void, wildly tossed,
Their juggling balls are vanished and destroyed
In gulfs that even they have never crossed.
But they don’t care; nor should we,
For all we know, think or see,
Mere seeds on ground too cold on which to grow
The least idea
of what it
means to be.
