Am I a product of the earth,
Evolved from lower forms?
No soul, no thing of any worth
Beyond organic norms.
A thing of cells and flesh and bone
Emerging from a mist,
No place my mind can feel at home,
No reason to exist.
We're told, my friend, these theories are
Quite true; and yet, how odd
That minds that search beyond each star
Refuse to search for God.