He searched the sky and asked,
And it was good, to finally feel the light again
His search for some subjective words
Ended in clock hands counting sand

He sang to sun and grass and smiled,
And it was good, to feel the warmth
On his hands with ink stains deep
From sketching angles of the night.

He turned the leaves
Read truths in veins,
And he watched man,
A planet to span,
Ignore the truth outside his brain

A man with Titan’s head in hand
Turned over leaves and wrote fire in vain as
He cracked the sun and split the sky
And it was good, to finally feel
Right again

He is god who, without words,
Will trace the wonders of the seas.
God is dead with pen in head,
Truth drips not from his crystal skull.
But from his shelves, in tall clear jars
His gathered wisdom falls.

Down below the world is slow
In pockets, people talk of truth.
Sliver tongues and razor minds,
Silverfish spewing spurious waves
On underfed and wanting slaves

“Arbitrary moral notes
Will only go so far, to show
He’s not just who, pen in hand,
Crafts words to twist a fickle soul.”

He looked upon his words and knew
He'd etched the great objective moon
In stone, a rule to follow, soon
The people all should know.

He is god, with lens unseen,
Who puts words to old melodies.
The outline of the trees were there
Before he colored them with green.
Last edited by D&DLover at Aug 15, 2011,