Oh creator, who am I?
Am I you? Is that the truth?
The beauty of life caught my eye.
Then I witness the follies of youth.
I witness the follies of all life.
Something vast to comprehend.
Is misery my hideous wife?
Do we dance till the bitter end?
Perhaps all things are glorious.
Maybe life is better than it seems.
I wish to be indubitably victorious.
Achieving the best of my dreams.
Oh, but if I am the creator, what have I done?
Look at all the broken lives, everything under the sun.
Even the things in the darkness.
People must think me, the creator, to be heartless.
I should end it all now, shouldn’t I? But what will I lament?
Must I lament emotion, for the traumas it might bring?
Must I lament the birds for the the songs they sing?
Must I lament death? Fire the reaper! Fire him now.
Must I lament reason and logic, for trying to root me out somehow?
Must I lament passion and the way it drives creation?
Must I lament unity and the way it divides every nation?
Must I lament purity for all the innocence lost?
Lastly, must I lament love, for the sheer depth of its cost?
Why should I lastly lament love?
You always save the best for last.