I wonder often if
God could find no bettter clay
with which to make us,
no better tools.
For there's no questioning
his steady hands, his beautiful
particle logic, the knowledge
burning bright behind those nebula eyes.
Surely the fault lay somewhere
in the very rock of us, the atoms,
and not his careful crafting.
Even as star dust, we conspired
to thwart him. Oh, it's no wonder
that he doesn't love us anymore.

08/01/2005

Author's Note: Particle logic part lifted from an Angel. The American kind.

Posted on 08/01/2005
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