Ceasefire
Believers, stoked by a thirst-quenching fire
scale mountains with hope-braided rope.
Atheists, being damper and drier
tackle gentler slopes of Mope and Cope.
Some ride a pendulum high, to inspire
music and art beyond mortal scope.
Others, content in a logical mire
wash layers of mud with plain soap.
Unflinching believers aspire, won't tire
aligned by an inner gyroscope.
Less particular atheists acquire
bits, here and there in a whimsical grope.
Once, creation myths were shaped by desire
like a slow turning kaleidoscope.
Advent of printing fixed faith to require
no deviation from dogma's tightrope.
Maybe evolution was the supplier
of protective spiritual envelope.
Still, who would conspire, to maim with crossfire
unless she be a hard misanthrope.
poem by Diane Hine
Added by Poetry Lover
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