Why? - Poem by Zero Elf
How dare he mold us of dirt and water?
How much of a child is he that he makes us for his own amusement
Is he bored?
What tests are these before us that only some will be put on a shelf for appreciation
And all else to die?
Such imperfect creatures purposely made to fail and some to succeed
But still we are branded with the fault for being made
What fault have we for being imperfect?
What of the beasts?
They kill to eat and eat to kill
He is several names: goddess of the vines,
He who makes it rain or shine
He who makes the wind blow
Or makes the stars glow
He is Death, he is Christ
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