I am trapped hell of my own design.
Of creation. Of destruction.
Of healing. Of suffering.

I was a great and all-knowing force.
A guide across a new, unfamiliar immortal coil.
Forgiving and yielding
as I led you across this great space.

I thought you to be small.
To be ignorant.
To be entirely unaware of the plans I had for you.
Of the deception I had weaved.

After all, how could a mere mortal ever measure up to a God?
Mortals know nothing of forever.

And now here I stand,
like a newborn deer in spring.
Unsure of my footing.
My own form foreign.

In sparing me, you have killed me a thousand times.

I am now beneath the very creatures I chose to guide.
A mere ant. A speck. A great nothing.
I have no power here.
No real strength to call my own.

I had seen endless sunsets.
The rise and fall of civilizations.
Witnessed the crash of continents.

I understood what it was to be mortal.
They lived a mere blink, desperate and afraid,
and then they died wholly insignificant.

Yet, you made me sit in those fields,
as though I had a choice,
to listen to the babble of the brook.
Not to consider the raging river it may become,
but to enjoy it, just as it was.

The flowers bounced softly on the breeze;
somewhere children shouted,
birds sang, trees swayed
knowing nothing of eons past
and nothing of tomorrow.

I held the universe in my hands.
Yet, only now do I seem to understand it.
Its intricacies, its nuances.
The gentle touch of a summer’s day.

In the end, perhaps I was destined to fail.
For all of my deceptions, I knew so little.
Ignorant to each water drop that created the stream.
Each little drip that led to my downfall.

After all, how could a God ever challenge a mortal?
Gods know nothing of the now.