a litany of ruminations

musings of a god on mortals and men

A/N : please do not take any offense. written two nights ago while I was supposed be sleeping. whoops. not exactly poetry.

he'd rather hear the harsh truth of reality than an idealistic fantasy of a pipe dream.

after all, reality was something of which you could never wake.

.

in which a god makes an acquaintance of a mortal.

. .        .

he hated the pathetic whims of society, ebbing and flowing like the tides except far more inconsistent under the cool glow of washed-out moonlight from a sphere fraught with pockmarks and craters and a dull dust-grey, yet with a rugged beauty all of its own in the strangest simplicity...

how he loathed every brush, every passing reaction by the scowl not unlike the threat of a looming cumulonimbus waiting, impatient, to burst gracing his darkened composure at the mere hint of any human interaction,

perhaps he was a hypocrite but he was a god. he had a right to watching from his elevated pedestal and muse from a distance, just a footstep above in the cosmos.

how mortals would simply discard others who'd they regarded as "friends,"comrades. what had happened to in arduis fidelis? loyalty in adversity in his mother tongue, yes, what had happened? discarding so-called "friends" when they were no longer in use in their twisted machinations as if they were a broken toy, a marionette whose strings were cut loose beneath them and never to be used again, to be coated in dust from neglect within the dark of an attic.

discarded as if the bonds they had held had never been anything but a fleeting pipe dream, as if they were nothing.

and how petty arguments would well up like bubbling springs, never, never a drought of spiteful words to pick and choose in fierce altercations, misconstrued words or callous offhand remarks.

humans could not let go of their little grudges, some of them at least, clinging to every heated drop and perhaps never letting go, yet it would only hurt them in the end. perhaps forgiveness was beneficial to both sides---to let past slights go on the winds, sinking into the depths of the ocean. forgive and forget. he wasn't sure if he was ever able, though.

how people in some form or fashion felt as if they were an ill-fitting piece in the grand interlocking puzzle of society, always left behind, an outsider looking in on a tight-knit web, drifting and unanchored to the ground beneath. he wished for someone to ground them. (him.)

he loathed people. although wasn't that hypocritical?

how...how they'd talk on and on and on about their woes and inconsequential matters he had no use for, their irritating concern for his health (he was fine. he always would be. right?) the endless natter, incessant ramblings of meaningless words, on and on and on, empty words, idle chatter. he had no use for small talk. he'd remain silent and use words sparingly, as they'd have more meaning and leave thoughts left unsaid.

like he was better seen than not heard. one should not speak until spoken to.

he could talk whenever he pleased. it was simply he'd rather not.

they wore him out, drawing and trying on his massive reserves of (im)patience, just being within their presence. for some it seemed as if their energy had no bounds.

he preferred the silence, the cool, quiet serenity of no words exchanged or exhausting, complex machinations or ulterior motives or---ugh--complicated emotions.