Will

We are not robots, and yet we have this thing called free will with which to choose to be

So it begins
First a faint mark
On the coil of mortality
Soon gathering pigment
Until, in bold, the letters
Etched into a servant mind
Like starlight, pinpricks
On a blanket of void

Now clear, this wish entrenched
A twist of Intervention
Or of a selfish blade?
Outspoken Divinity
Or Indwelling humanity?
The mystery, the empowering motive
Encompassed in a bond

In motion as Father and heir
Along a winding trail
One of infinity
The other justified
To unending solace