Why Did God Create Man?

The heart sinks, and dives lower,
Into the ocean of existence,
To reach the water bed, and discover the sand,
That exhales the liquid.

If the dust grows on the traveler,
As he walks into the sky,
If the blood that marks a tyrant,
Embraces a thinker’s lie,
If the wing that tears and bleeds,
Is but an orb of thought,
Sculpted into clay,
By the fingers of a single voice,
If the voice allows the notes of a single song,
To scatter,
Then who, I ask,
Are we?

Do we walk, or do we stand?
And do we decide between these two?
Which road is ours, and which string,
Among the shimmering circles of the spider’s lair,
Comes from us?

The spider spins, and lets us ride its
Imagination.
The tangle of strings, as they struggle to breathe,
All lead to the snares of the Creator.
Or so we think.
Can the web be unraveled?Will “I” survive?