Script Can’t

Do you remember, so long ago, when we used to write poetry together, feed each other our packed lunches, and were the godly trio?
Oh when, the father, Call on, the son, and I, the (un)holy spirit.
And then like a Fault (of one or perhaps all of us) we split, cracked, shattered.
You became the activist, you became the muse and poet combined, and I, unknown.
But
Oh When, when will you call home?
Call on, remember how long we had spent together, and how little I hear from you, how the days pass, you’ve grown so old and I’ve yet to see it
No sense in wailing o’er the past
My wedding will be bare anyways
And we have grown apart so fast
Friendship of Convenience
Arranged partnerships
Requiem æternam dona Eis,
Domine
Et lux perpetua luceat ei