I watch over them at night. The sleeping and the still awake. They are all equally oblivious to my presence. Do they walk with their heads down to ignore the rain, or perhaps because they feel the weight of my eyes upon them.
I could stop a heart with a stretch of a finger. The finality of an insignificant motion… how sweet is the realization of death. The bitterness that comes from knowing I carry such power, and yet I do not turn away from it. I embrace the moment.
I am their God. They know me even if they do not know my name. I am a sound, a thought, a prayer. To contain my essence in a word is a disservice to my own creation.
And still below the ants toil at their daily labor. They are as singular in their world as I am in my thoughts about them. I marvel at their life.