Under the sun, a long vested crust- far and spread.
As sun shines, glows with moon. 
Created by unknown, land of lords.
Tall forests, blue skies, and green oceans
beautiful to watch as a magnum opus.
But while it was progressing, something was wrong and boring. 
Thoughts flowed and restlessly goner,
Creation of Mankind began.

Intellectual, obedient, and suppliant,
One to worship, fed with milk of paradise;
cleared the crack of The masterpiece.
Completion and perfection thought angels.
Plans and paths were rested, life and secrets entrusted.
Goodness flung the sphere.
As years passed, centuries elapsed; 
stories, histories, buildings- all of it’s remnants.

But this land not yields forever.
Trees died, water dried, and where birds migrated and seasons ended.
Summer rained then winter melted, conquered empires taken over.
Fame and game buried over, day broke soon night fell,
except Him not for eternity, so the graves are built.

Now the artistry is a graveyard,
 became one only of birth- If it is made it is to end.
Good old days and bad old months.
Humans called ‘em heaven.
How is it then the world so pure? 

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