A along time ago you confided in me,
you whispered, in fact,
that you did not believe in God
You said you didn't believe in a God who endorsed the sudden death of young person, of a good person,
you told me that He was a malicious being in many ways, this God of mine
All I could muster to ask you,
in my neophyte way,
was why you believed God to be a He or a Him
You told me that men know sorrow, but women know infinite sorrow,
and someone with infinite sorrow could never bring it upon another,
and so you disowned him,
and you sat in the slumber room of a bastardly funeral home,
a home filled with unclaimed souls and indigent remains,
and you felt sorry for yourself
This is not what you asked for,
I know it,
because I wrote it before you believed in disbelief,
just late enough to poison those innards of yours,
just early enough to have no cognizance of the fact that there is no such thing as disbelief,
just in time to prove yourself wrong
She was something enchanting, disarming even, wasn't she so---
but then again, so was He---
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