the sweet straggle.

The dogs of dogma at my door,
not for long did they stay.
With my mind and its whores,
i was well entertained.

The words of sermons
through the window pane,
ah they were surely in vain,
presumptious and flawed,
this theosophy inane.

Ah!
But I danced and i swayed,
to the music that was played,
by my friends and their fingers,
and their souls untamed,
and it was surely here,
i found solace.

So I danced and i swayed,
and as the priest said i strayed,
from the road that is holy,
and the path sacred.

Till I came upon a garden,
in air the ground lay,
And as i ventured further,
I was shouted afar nay!

'Tis is for the pilgrims,
the lovers of colour,
and the patrons of baked clay.

I absorbed the riddle,
I understood what the voice spake,
it was us of the arts,
us mortal gods,
to whom mention was made.