Experientia...

[Barry]

I once wrote a poem, God
titled Experientia Religiosus Bona Fide Verbatim.
I could quote some parts to you,
but what would be the point?
You're God.
You know everything.
And you remember it all, right?

The hard-copy's still there somewhere,
running over seventy pages at last count,
and it's mostly the drug-addled ramblings
of a man in the midst of a profound psychotic episode.
But since you inspired it all, I expect you to have listened.
Or at the very least, to have read.

There are many clues in that manuscript,
many lies overturned; names are revealed;
the Doctrine of the Fall is fully exposed,
all your dirty little secrets brought out into the light.
Because you told me all to say,
I can't blame any but you.
And why would I blame anyone anyway?

I still think of those days we had, you and I,
with fondness and longing,
melancholy sadness for what's passed and no more,
and I'm glad you've left me my life.
I'm glad I still have my love.
I'm not sorry I could not carry your torch.
And I know you will never forget, nor will I.

For you are God, and I'm just a man.
My life is still mine, no less yours.
I get through it best I can like everyone else, as it should be.
And I remember the time we worked together,
wrote a poem to save my world,
Experientia Religiosus Bona Fide Verbatim,
and I am glad the effort was made.

[stilltrucking]

As far as the rest of life is concerned, what people call “experience,”—which of us is serious enough for that? Or has enough time?--- "Ray" Nitzke

Good stuff Barry