The Boy with a Ball of Light

Dear child, winged with magic, do you really have free will, When the gods already know what you're gonna do? Your mind, dipped in fallacies, and predestined logic; Could you handle the gravity of what is true?

Philosophy admires the arguments and laws, To the existence of myths and gods, we shall not bow. Create thy own metaphysics: time, space, and matter. Cease thy wondering and dancing thoughts: "how?"

The gods will send us to the Underworld anyway, So gather all the so called "sense" you can make. For terrible disproofs shall intrude your thoughts all the more, While your own magic questions omnipotence as you wake.

And so, in this arched comparison of great disagreements, Let your wings rest from the sea of confusing nights. Contradictions will tread behind you nonetheless, As fate against fate becomes meaningless in your sight.