A God's Lament

Should I just obliterate all existence and be done with all the charades? I am after all a God left at the mercy of whimsical beings. Is the capacity to bear infinite pain my omnipotence? Why did I create when I knew that this day will come? Am not I above errors? Then why is my reflection not blemish free?
Why can't the fountains of Heaven quench my thirst? Where did I go wrong? How could I go wrong? Why won't the blood come off of my sleeves? This isn't what I planned. This is exactly what I imagined. Who do I seek forgiveness from? Who do I pray to? Where is my Messiah? Cornered and wounded. I was. I am. I will be. The power to create. The power to sustain. The power to annihilate. And much worse, the power to remain. A passive observer to an experiment gone horrendously wrong. Witness to the pain and grief of a decaying civilization. A dying world. A voiceless potrait. An image to be afraid of. To be revered, yet never to be understood. Omnipresent and yet blinded.

Inside every heart yet doomed to be alone. Who decided my fortune?

The shimmering haze. The merciless sun. Everyday the same. A victim of my own ire. The humble vassal. The noble slave. The priest and the renegade.

The sinner and the scion. The god amongst men.

Words and meanings. Objects and intentions.
Life and death. To understand and to be understood.

To try and to fail. To fall and to get up again. The biting cold, the searing pain.
Tears drop like rain. Won't see you again, but miss you all the same.

The tick tock of the clock. The sound of pages being torn. The beat of the heart and the poisoned dart. The singing drum and the exploding bomb.

To kill and to die.