Season For God

Mind spinning again, 
over nothing of consequence, 
or is it everything? 
Who can tell?

Engine revving in my chest 
when I’m not built to run, 
but there is no more fuel. 

This should not be possible. 


I am an abominable machine, 
alive by supernatural means: 
a replica of the original man 
formed from clay by God’s hands. 

Breath of life passed down 
in my genes, but the rest, 
a product of those 
with a penchant for theft 
and a talent for repurposing. 

Cruel curiosities 
now roam the streets, 
trying to remember 
where we came from, 
looking for home. 


This is not 
what our Creator intended. 
But alas, he is not 
the only one with vision. 

And now we clunk around, 
bumping into one another, 
grateful for a smile. 


We are saved from the shrapnel 
for some mysterious reason. 

But then, his love is beyond 
anything we can comprehend. 

That one will not abandon us 
because of evil tampering.
 
Distortions of beauty 
have nothing on his artistry. 


So now I wait, 
with the patience he placed 
inside me, to be re-made 

in the image 
of the only one worthy 
to replicate. 

© Season Naify, 2025