I drove along, I rode

down a road with highest hopes,

and I saw along this highway

the broken chains and shedded clothes.

I thought about my name,

and named a purpose that it held,

and looked up to the sky

upon the starlit wishing well.

“If my name holds more than title,

if it serves to direct my way,

then I hope that there’s a gift

just for my purpose and my aid.

But oh, would that it be inhuman!

Perhaps I could have super abilites!

Surely that would make me better!

Then, I could be this best me.”


I tiptoed through the entrance,

and sought out a familiar face,

and found in those unfamiliar

a familiarity-traced.

“I wonder what gifts you have!”

: the words that left a foreign mouth.

I walked away, thought of my toughts

and wondered, pondered. How?

And again familiarity came

as one stood before the room,

but this time I was much more sure

that I had either met glory or doom:

“This here is a gift, a tool,

and oh the most valid truth,

and while it literally came from man,

in it of more there’s proof.

For no man would live and die,

and kill and save and form,

a book by a few mere men

unless within it a God was born.”


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