Unified Field Theory, Schmeory
The world is made of paradox and metaphor,
But men have gone in search of many schemes,
Forgetting why the sun and what the moon are there for,
Hang out to dry the fabric of our dreams.
Groping every cranny, every nook for certainty,
Tearing off the skin of nature too,
Accelerators smash to bits the world and then
Mathematics gets out super-string and glue.
The reductionism of our tribe's its idol,
As hand in glove it fits the mind of man,
Lop off all the rest like old Procrustes,
Think to out-mete heaven with its span.
One day scientists will find the world's projected
Through faith, and by imagination's light,
But since they won't be able to believe it,
Their sky will sadly roll up into night.