How you look at me from above.
You don't know me.
But I know you as a god.
God not chosen, not wanted.
God created before I was brought.
Why do I have your eyes upon me,
why do I have to tolerate so?
Friends of mine from sight beyond
come when I call them.
But you
silently invite yourself on your own.
Do you expect me to not notice
by turning the light on?
I know you're hiding,
while watching me go.
And I go down under
the thickest of rocks
and still you reach there and
touch.
I know... I know.
I'm going nowhere.
You're here, and there, and sight beyond.
I can't escape the paths you draw, and what is the worst:
You don't even know me.
I'm less
than dust.
But I still do know you, omnipresent,
in all my thoughts
as a god.
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