Creation... and Created...
The ignorant child, hard at work; Building forts from grains of sand, Patting and pinching- that foolish hand- Ignorant yet of fates that lurk Amongst the brine, ready to leap And dissolve- ere he blinks- the clumsy heap. The dappled painter, lost in hues; Painting worlds and scenes and men, With patient strokes and skillful pen. The pointless reds, the useless blues That Time will fade and Humanity judge For but a moment, before the impatient nudge. The mumbling believer, chanting hymns; Counting rosaries; lengthy epics reads, Strangely penitent, for unknown deeds, Forever fearing imagined Gods' imagined whims. Pray, does he, and baseless ideas extol, Of Gods that rule, if they exist at all. The gilded dancer, forever chasing grace; Why steps in time to the tapping beat That cares a moment for her rushing feet, And cares far seldom for the ecstatic face? Dance does she to beat the beat? Or dance does she to liberate her feet? The joy of feats is joy forever When Soul does dabble i...