Creating God

He is worn down and quite threadbare. So let us sit together now to form a new reality. It isn't hard. We do it every day without a conscious push, and there it is, staring back, a joyous, often fearsome monster toy that never goes away. What kind of wisdom may apply— furrowed, relic of the wars? Perfection, then, is not an option; for there are too many tears. Aha! To make a point, that surely is the sense and sensibility, the magic power between our palms, and vanity the joy to fill the cornucopia of time. But then, someone chose instead the only gift that could emerge from spirit hands, that longing look that history is always dredging up— the one that tears horizons down to feast on bread and wine it never saw before, nor entertained upon the slate of its fond paradise. I see, before we even start that we are quite undone. ~