by Claire Woodard
The Argument One could argue, That through all of science And discovery, That all that is And ever was Could threaten to be fake, Artificial, Unreal. For excitement Is just a mix of chemicals
Within the brain, And all the Earth may be Is a big rock, Spinning, Forever in darkness, Until a ball of bright rays comes and warms it. This dispute is doomed to be misinterpreted By those whom
May file it as Arrogant. One whom deigns to attempt to explain Existence Is hardly a narcissist. But perhaps it is the one Who questions the motives of the defender Who is too caught up
With concentrations of their own self To even fathom How insignificant they are, And how small this blue marble is In the overall context of things. Then again, it is only a
Simple Little Argument.