In the Next Life, Canto IV, stanzas 13-18

Before we leave, I’d like to linger on
the question of God’s new identity.
I have a picture by a master drawn.
I copy it. What image do you see?

Or better yet: You find a long-lost sheet
of notes and plunk them out on your guitar.
They represented melody and beat
but weren’t those things before, and now they are.

You certainly did not compose that piece.
Did it exist, though, in the heretofore?
When no one heard it, did the music cease?
Or was it dormant, like a mildew spore?

Suppose that, unbeknownst to you, the song
is being played somewhere they don’t read notes,
evolving somewhat as it goes along
from strings to ear through various misquotes.

I’m thinking that when these two versions meet,
those who have learned the tune will disagree
which one is more sublime or sounds more sweet,
all based on which one was know previously.

Let’s drop that, though; the two gods’ paths won’t cross.
The indoor god stays happily within,
oblivious of ’97’s loss
and the existence of His outdoor kin.

©2013 Louis A. Merrimac