The Maker

God’s hands create beauty one cannot erase
Withstand the throes of times merciless tasks

Fair is the maiden dressed in snow white lace
Crafted out of the clay that fails to mask
What god has done to her beautiful face

She weeps in sorrow under the pale moonlight
Stares at the sky with anguish, god she hates
He rests above the clouds among the lethal heights
Watching what he has created with glee

Eyes shine with interest at the girls pain
She wishes to leave unbound and be free
Her earthly tethers caging in her frame
Seen as a doll
An unfeeling plastic
Only to be used in one’s tragic tale