The Imperfect Creation
Suffering and mortality are born into a world left untouched by divine correction.
In the woven dance of life and knowing, imperfection took root;Whether by the Shaper’s intent or by accident, none could tell.
Suffering sprang forth like thorns from fertile ground,Diseases that ravaged the living, wounds that would not heal,Sorrows that echoed through generations and beyond.
Death, untimely and cruel, struck without warning;Grief entwined itself with joy, like shadows beneath the sun.
And though mortals cried out to the heavens,Neither the Shaper nor the Quickener reached forth to mend the broken world.Together, they stood apart, watching the world unfold as it would;Neither seeking to mend nor alter the fate of what had been made.
For the one had formed, the other had stirred,And their work, in its imperfection, was complete.