The Gift of a God

Millions of children gathered around me, Can I like any of them without being a father to them actually, Peer to peer though much more mature, It seems children of the lord aren't as pure, They call them born again virgins and I like to make fun, They all point and laugh at me because to God I'm no child, Nor a son, They get to be children and hate me if I like them at all, And as I grow angry they just give me a reason to fall, Being so above towering most of them in ways, Because I don't need a name and I don't need to be praised.