We create because we were also created
We reflect and aspire to our beginnings
Longing to create just as by the creator
But we are flawed, have no way to start
We reproduce in numbers, and make art
Building great cities, building high walls
But we can't imagine doing any justice
To the works of the hand of a creator
Ask what could we ourselves ever do
Should we'd had such enormous power
With visions that renew
With majesty revealed
If only we had the same view
As the one who made us
Could anything we make
Not be as noble
Nor as incredible
Nor as pure or as good?
Perhaps it is blasphemy
To consider or dream
Of having the power to create
To have life giving power
As a being so divine
With perfect understanding
And wisdom so serene?
