Arguments from the Void

What of these philosophies that trample on God,
Such diminutive emanations from seemingly grandiose minds.
When on trembling fingers they pen poison, then do they pay homage
To the Fashioner of limb and bone and blood.
When with scathing tongues they much assail; at such times,
Unwittingly, must they bow to One who, with the wind in His hands, blows.
When on the floor, gripped in death's dance,
Twisting in tortured triumph at lived defiance,
And bellowing the conclusions to aged arguments,
Then shall their rebuttal be the nearest.