Poetry: The Design

Posted to dVerse

I molded them from hardened clay
And they were hardened dust
I bestowed all of my love to them
And yet, they broke my trust
Within my shape, I molded them
But they broke their chains of clay
And though I still sit above them now
I mourn them to this day

But what can the balance weigh to see
If I am wrong or they?
Was I at fault to make them so
Or them to disobey?
The fundamental arguments
Of faith or hope or light
Mean nothing in the grandest scheme
Of the true meaning of life

But what is the meaning that I seek
Or is it they that seek it thus?
Am I still searching for the answer
To why they broke my trust?
Or is it they that mourn the loss,
They wonder how the sin
Beget their wondrous fall from grace
To the current state of men?

We wonder from our vantage points,
Me above down to below
And they so staring at the sky
Wishing my blessings to bestow
But can I touch them now again
After so much time has passed?
And if I did, would once again
They wander from their path?

Do I dare demand them once again
With commandments set in stone?
Or would they just be crushed within
The rush of falsities enthroned?
Do I dare endear the holy man
Who dabbles sickly in the dark,
Who leads a horde of so-lost sheep
In the opposite way of the ark?

Do I dare entrust the preacher high
To lead them back to chains of clay?
Or would he make their chains of a
Different sort, a parody of pray?
Do I dare call out to the common man
Of angels would he sing and rant?
Would he just be thrown into the white
And never in life the knowledge grant?

Do I dare speak out to all at once,
A sphere of seven billion lives
With every single life within
Of a singular divide?
Would seven billion minds of man
Ever cease to rage and kill
Even if I spoke to them of
Grace, love, and goodwill?

I cannot imagine here today
A world of peace and pride
Of a world of man so far untouched
By the hand of meaningless divide
I can imagine only what I see
For the not-eternity of them all
And what I see is not redemption
But the continuance of an unending fall

So because of this, I cannot speak
I dare not test their wills again
I will not touch the world once more,
Not in aid or death, as I promised them
Instead I will sit and watch and wait
And hope some original spark of mine
Will in some way rekindle once again
The perfection of my original design