The sculptor of lives
Carving among the forests
The cities, the streets, the statues
Hasty and
Ingenius as he is.
Among the fjords
The scars and frames
The wind eat it up
Crows are set to appear
Eating it alive
Redeming the creator
At least for a settled mind
Just a waste of marble
Nihilistically
Uselessly
Wasting time.
Yet the sculptor
In his imperfection perfection
Quiet as he is
On symmetric mirrors hands
He let it rise
The parasitic wicked
The corroding depraved
The cracking nefarious.
At the same hammer
At the same sound
He let his footprints
And oil for the cracks,
Some cement for corrosion,
A sword against the parasites.
God
Always
An image of himself
And an image against himself
Proving himself
Everytime, everyplace, the one win
The only way to go
The only path to be
The only win there is
To win for good.