"a man's god"

It used to be that I believed in God because I knew he existed, because I knew he was there to watch over me. It was never a question of why he existed or if he created me, because I already knew, I could feel it. Everything in life that was beautiful told me that he was there, that he made the rose that I held or the sunset that touched everything and turned it to gold. Even if crimson flowed from an open wound when I pricked my finger on a thorn I loved how brilliantly the wound would heal as if he himself had kissed it. But as I come closer and closer to man, I stray away from what Ive known. I see how much we try to imitate, to become like him. The sculptor knows what I speak of, and so does the painter and the poet. But now so does the man of science and he is close. A reason for all he remarks, an answer to every question. I had no question it is true, but is that my fault to accept, to be at peace? This man is close, too close for me to stay. Before I plucked the flower from the bush I smelled it and it smelled as sweet as Juliet's. But I was misled, I was wrong. The man, he made this rose, this plant, this false comfort that I had cherished...