Said the Father

I hate my mortal-made visage, this neatly numbered plaque. Not once did I demand a form, for I was born abstract. It hurts enough to hold my seat along with Lady Life, and watch her wondrous dance debase before my boundless sight. It pains me to be so involved with what she gave the earth. It pains me knowing I'm the one who makes in vain her birth. Though, that I cannot hope to change nor can I my physique; but still, to watch you humans is to watch my Life grow weak. To watch you not with eyes but with a pair of telling hands-- must be convenient for your cause, though still I'll reprimand. Inanimates, abstracts and rules all harbor intellect; though, it would seem that such a fact you humans don't suspect. A statue in your living room, an emblem on your wrist-- what more must I become to prove your selfish kind exists? I can't believe you had the nerve to keep my frame in date, with flick'ring numbers to alarm and ward your waking late! As I am now, what choice have I but regulate your death; forgive my pessimistic mind, but fate I must accept. It pains me to resign these hands unto the Reaper's call, to have to mark your every rise, and mark your only fall.