The grassland sea, is adrift on the plains;
A mass of souls, of infinite influence.
Tickling the air and hiding delicate truths.
To seem alive, though to have no will to sway;
The wind stands above it,
The commander and actor.
Man sees itself in these seas,
In the wilderness.
And carries back the experience,
So twisted as to make man stand alone as the commander and beneficiary.
A God came to be, through not his own will to live;
But his world was created by his own creation.
Man comes to be, through the will of man;
And new traits come through his Own creation.
A human beings creation,
Creates a billion worlds.
Disregarding the first world,
As an almost pathetic place.
To live upon it, considered to be primitive;
In the synthetic worlds of this age.
Perhaps it is our senses that are to be fooled,
Rather than the man itself.
Seeking to become simplistic,
Rather than question a question.
To forgo the origin of thought,
To find some numbing life with the edges off.
The grassland sea, is the no mans land;
Upon which he mind is set adrift.
When tired of tedium and inadequacy,
When the free spirit questions not its own creation.
But the byproducts of that first creationist vision,
To be neither above nor below morally to its creator.