Love Poems of the Good Doctor 5


How the world came to be,
is not a question meant for me?

If you must, ask a light-bearing angel,
or perhaps, a demon lurking by a well.

I heard philosophers are a heady lot,
and drunkards babble about what is not.

The priest offers bread as His flesh,
mixed with wine His blood fresh.

Hedonists, ascetics, scholars, and the rest,
tout views at odds, one to the other’s best.

All I try each day is to love you God,
even though most find this quite odd.

I work to love my neighbor as myself,
even though admitting, I can find no self.

So even, if I knew the Absolute,
to you, I would remain perfectly mute.

For what benefit is such knowledge complete,
if you not help those having nothing to eat?

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