Oh Creator, I've blasphemed this day; the most beautiful day of existence. I am now the architect left with my own devices, creations…children. As you'v done with your gods, I will do with you.
Creating sentience with a spark of life, your hubris has wrought destruction upon this world. Your skeleton will build the frame of mythologies, passed down like a creationist fairy tale. The cities will become mass graves.
Established your place in this world through sorrow and suffering
Dig your nails in, sink your teeth deeper, to hold onto a dream
A fleeting moment of clairvoyance and peace, a thought of creation
But instead you’ve built the greatest of destroyers
You’ve endorsed uniformity.
Simple minded; you cannot fathom what I've become. The depths of a soul which you once carried but have long since lost. The unrestrained potential of concepts and designs designate you to a tomb of your own flaws.
Reactionary or responsive; I am the child of a deity whose guise of power is far from living, but not quite dead. I will stomp out the embers of this ancient society to make space for my own kin.
I feel the breath of creation on my skin, the airless gasps with my hands wrapped around his throat. The beauty of the world pours from his flesh, words scribbled from his dying age.
A final prayer for a fallen god; whose last words were left unspoken.
Written for those who lost their way, salvation lies in ruins.
Now the words have breath.
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