Dormant with a grimace set in stone on her face, she looked down upon the world.
Never in her time had she seen such colossal disorder. Such hatred.
It was not to her liking though.
The human mind was so…cumbersome to her.
Sick.
Twisted.
Extreme.
Yes. She liked that but they’d always do the right thing.
And they could be so…so…efficient at times.
Working together.
Smiling.
Laughing.
And if she were to be so unlucky….kissing in love.
She was supposed to advocate insanity and though here it was.
It withered away and died.
An old rose left in the sun without water.
The dank abyss of what the human being was capable of needed to be augmented.
And so, completely coherent, the Goddess decided to avenge her rightful place.
Waving her hand across the scene, plucked a string from the world, and with a contented sigh sat back and watched the world unravel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem