Its a backwards thing;
They walk, they talk, they sit and think.
Wonder of their lives that are made to compromise,
Forced to blink and breath, all for the nature of the thing:
The thing is expressed by a way,
A force or a Godly viewed charade.
The thing likes to speak in people’s brains–
At least they thought that’s what the thing might say–
To any question that they bring,
There’s a reply in their conscious from the thing.
But here’s when the mind gets twisted,
Dreaming that the thing really listens.
Believing that the things can truly hear
Every wish and every fear.
To swear that the thing does answer
To their prayers and thoughts right after
Is only proof that their verging on insane
Because the thing does not, with lesser man, play.
The thing does not think you are special
Or worth the time or effort to help.
Anyone smaller than itself
The thing ignores and remains in stealth.
Without the mystery of the thing
The purpose of life would become seen.
And then most everyone would be lost,
Knowing their whole lives were not enough.
So keeping the thing completely unknown
Will leave the thing unnecessary to be shown.
This way the people can continue to live
Out a useless life that the thing can later forgive.