Will it ever be divine?

A poem about life and divinity.

A drop of water
Falls on her face
And a flower is born,
The bloom of the human race.

Thick black ash
Blots out the summer skies,
These are all the things
That you see from her eyes.

A little black beetle
Scrambling on the floor,
Just waiting for the foot to come down.
Is that all we are here for?

...To be mangled
In the web of time.
Life was meant to be
But will it ever be divine?