To begin, you must have heard,
There was, initially, The Word.
The word was God, which then conferred
No referent nor meaning.
No one then could understand
The Word, so God thus waved his hand
And in that way the world was manned
Through Godly intervening.

Very pleased to have, at last,
Some human lips that could be passed
And tips of tongues to sit amast,
The Word was newly buoyant.
But God一The Word一was very proud
And never would be said aloud.
His name it must be talked around
For God is an avoidant.

And Man was charged to make up terms
To tell the wyverns from the worms,
The packrats from the pachyderms
From planktons of the oceans.
For mountain goats and moles and mice;
For lugworms, locusts, labs, and lice;
For all the things of Paradise,
But not for his emotions.

"Why is it that I am... um... sad?
My heart? feels... uh... I want to say... bad?
Driven was it... that's it! Mad!"
Thus love songs were invented.
What was missing, missed, or gone,
He could not put his finger on.
The mots he had amassed were bon,
But not when thus presented.

"Good work," said God, "But here's the rub:
I have a book for you to sub.
It's called The Bib.. O, please, don't blub.
There's a good boy. Steady."
So God created, on a whim,
Another mouth to speak of him,
Hewn from intercostal limb...
You know her name already.

Life in Eden now was ace,
Without a hint of fall from grace.
It was a much more noisy place
With Man no longer single-ish.
Until a reptile, serpent, snake.
Of Tantilla Coronata make,
Coiled around a tree and spake...
(Naturally in English):

"Eat this fruit and know the truth.
The mortal mouth, it is uncouth.
The body, vile! Observe the proof:
Your pubis is all hair-flecked."
The Man and Woman peeked below,
Then gave the cursed fruit a go.
No one had invented 'No!'
For Paradise was perfect.

God, who had no cause before,
Made up swears and promptly swore,
Grouping letters into fours
To put across his fire.
This gave early woman pause:
These were all unwritten laws
And the snake, for all his flaws,
Never was a liar.

For this, they were cast out, that's known,
Leaving God一The Word一alone,
With no companions to atone
Or make apologetics.
But, at this point, The Word was glad
That Man had first created “sad”
And “bad” and, though it made him mad,
It made him empathetic.

Who was there to comprehend
The Word, which saw no face nor friend?
That's why The Word had to be penned
To follow on behind them.
In pamphlet, holy book, and scroll;
On sandwich board and grilled cheese roll,
His praise and virtue to extol,
He sent words out to find them.

No! they said to being returned.
No! the lesson they had learned.
They spoke of him and his ears burned;
They wouldn't let him in though.
The Word they'd silently ignore
When he came knocking at their door.
They'd lie still upon the floor:
He'd look in through the window.

For Man does well not to forget
That day or night filled with regret
When words were used to easily set
Children against parent.
Cast outside or riven loose
By serpent's tongue and God's abuse:
The Word is understood by use
With no meaning inherent.

By the by, all mortals fought
On what it is The Word is not
And that, itself, is quite a thought
To ponder for an aeon.
A note of fact or work of fiction,
Catalogue of contradiction,
Suffering from sloppy diction,
That no one can agree on.

Strong sentiments in Aramaic
Now sound dusty and archaic,
Translation is not formulaic:
Take care in its appliance.
The words that built your sacred prose
Are those that the translator chose.
Religious zeal, God only knows,
Is not an exact science

Is Man right to feel paranoid,
With God now just a silent void...
The dark, dumb Dad of Dr. Freud?
They ought to have that queried.
If to begin we'd only heard
That sorry was the hardest word...
In the end, though, rest assured,
There'll be a full-stop. Period.