Flat-Earth

Not all a man believes is true.
And I, a man, not god, like you.
So dare I not have such conceit:
To call it gospel--my belief.

I think it true, but could be wrong.
So why insist, and be so strong?
A belief is not a certainty.
I guess we'll have to wait and see.

The world is round, and this is known.
But always not believed a globe.
There was a time we thought it flat,
And not just knaves, the learned at that!

Today, there be flat-earthers still.
With flat-earth concepts for which they kill.
Which tomorrow may be proven wrong.
Too late for those thus dead and gone.

And me?  I wonder where I stand.
Conceited god, or just a man?
Accused before th'firing squad.
Am I condemned?  Or aiming guard?

And which came first, belief or fact?
And use the one, convince of that.

Believe it so it must be true.
Invent some rationale to prove to you.

And thus my bias shines as gospel.
And don't you mock, or I'll get hostile.
'Cause today there be flat-earthers still.
With flat-earth concepts for which we kill.

The chicken?  Egg?  Now which came first?
Too late for those consigned to dirt.
Too late for those thus dead and gone.
Too late to say it:  but I was wrong.

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I don't think I really captured what I wanted to say here, but I'm tired of having this idea kicking around in my head so I'm posting it to be done with it (until it comes back to bother me again).  I have a feeling this theme will keep resurfacing for a while, we'll see.  I guess it's my version of "the only thing I know is that I know nothing at all."

anyway, iambic tetrameter (becoming a favorite of mine) the meter isn't as tight as it could be, i'm claiming poetic license on this one instead of laziness :)