He has killed the child in him long ago 
But still he is a child in reasoning
Without his sense of wonder and ergo
Sans the mystic feel of thrill visioning 
He chops logic to flail the primal curse 
And the first cause that leaves him ever bemused.
And he with sophistry traces the source
To prove we are by illusion seduced 
A barren crotchet our God he asserts,
No single cosmic item He creates
A crass piffle one thinks so, he alerts
A mindless frame this vast world he pirouettes
He argues to berate without brooding
And fails hatch his intuition of reading