Final Scripture

If God wrote poetry...

So I watch the smoke rise above,
No longer its source do I love,
The burnt offerings of hope and dismay,
amid the smell of ash and decay. 

Trying to see through the haze,
a world below that no one else can gaze. 
Frightened souls march to the beat of their destiny,
Lives filled with empty promises and a cacophony of misery.

From my perch I gaze below,
My patience no longer do I show,
I look again at my once beautiful creations that I behold. 
With mighty hands I reach down but nothing new, just the old.

I close the curtains and obscure the view that I see. 
"Let mankind perish," I say.  "It is their destiny."
Amid the haze of violence and despair,
the sound of a whisper I suddenly become aware. 

The sweet sound of my creation,
calling me to rekindle that relation.
But I have already given up, I have moved on. 
"Your souls must perish, now begone!"