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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1261486
We are not robots, and yet we have this thing called free will with which to choose to be
So it begins
First a faint mark
On the coil of mortality
Soon gathering pigment
Until, in bold, the letters
Etched into a servant mind
Like starlight, pinpricks
On a blanket of void

Now clear, this wish entrenched
A twist of Intervention
Or of a selfish blade?
Outspoken Divinity
Or Indwelling humanity?
The mystery, the empowering motive
Encompassed in a bond

In motion as Father and heir
Along a winding trail
One of infinity
The other justified
To unending solace
© Copyright 2007 Andrew Joseph Smith (ar-pharazon at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1261486-Will