A ripple on the surface of the pond
disturbs its eerie, mirror like perfection,
then dissipates, and eager to respond,
the water settles back upon reflection,
that being its true purpose -- sate our need
to probe, indeed to challenge our existence
and validate the basis of our creed:
yes we are in His image, though some distance
remains between what's perfect and what's us.
So easy to reach out for that ideal:
a mere stretch of the hand, so why the fuss?
But try to grasp it -- it was never real...
Recoiling from your touch, the ripples spread,
and taunt you: in His image? Or His stead?
Commenting requires a verified email and agreement to site terms.