Grant us all the peace of understanding Why it is that anything is here. Happiness or horror notwithstanding, The point of the whole thing is far from clear. If you are perfect, why this botched creation, Replete with hunger, torture, lust, and greed? Why suffer on the cross for our salvation? I understand the end, but not the need. A perfect being needs no son, no heaven, No purposes, no places, priests, or prayers, No stars or sepulchers, no souls, not even One dead fool, about whom someone cares. Could it be perfection could not be Without my love for you, and yours for me?
