(God Played) In The Ashes
God scooped soot in calloused palms, sculpting worlds from wreckage—
charred bone, melted saints, glass-eyed dolls split open by the quake.
He flicked meteor dust into rivers turned chemical,
hummed atomic lullabies over fields of suicide seeds,
while the last survivors stitched wings from textbooks and fishing line,
praying for exits that led nowhere.
Lightning forked across the skeleton of the grid—
grief arcing through dead power lines,
and somewhere in a ruined cathedral basement,
a stray dog gnawed a human jawbone
as children wrote love notes in iodine and lead,
prayed to mutant goldfish,
spun tales of before the world cracked like an egg,
before the gods learned to spit.
We reached for the same mask, traded prayers for algorithms,
memory for steel and fraud.
The pleas got caught in sirens, prophets drowned in flood.
In ash we built our thrones, in ash we drank our blood.
Trembling hands rewrote genetic code under lab fluorescence,
children gestated in glass, teeth sharp as regret,
a parade of glowing things coupling under artificial moon—
mosquitoes bred to conquer, then to plague,
bees designed for yield, now circling graveyards.
The market cheered extinction.
Rivers rose to collect what we owed—
ash in the pipes, fever in the lungs,
every family portrait stained sepia with loss.
We lit candles to see the next catastrophe, not to remember.
Our hands too clever, too hungry, the mask slipping.
Children born with barcode breath asked their mothers
what sunlight felt like, whether it would burn through smoke.
This isn’t revelation—it’s recursion. Ash to arrogance, back to ash.
God hummed alone while sweeping the wreckage.
We played god and called it salvation.
The sky blinked warnings nobody named.
God held up a fallout-caked mirror, dared us to recognize ourselves—
faces twisted by hunger, grotesque beauty pageants,
children playing chess with cockroaches, muttering broken hymns.
We worshipped in server rooms, prayed to reactors,
dug up the old dead seeking answers,
mothers burning heirlooms for warmth,
fathers selling shadow on darknets for pills that dulled the terrors.
Sky blackened, rivers ignited, and we kept at it—
tinkering, slicing, rebuilding,
our hearts digital, our hands slick with the last oil,
while somewhere, god laughed,
blowing smoke rings over the horizon.
We sang lullabies to mutant hounds and sleeping horrors,
baptized our sins with gene-wash, called it progress, called it fate.
God fingerpainted in soot while we drafted blueprints for the next extinction.
Listen close and hear him whisper:
Take it all, my darlings—
just remember who clears away the bones.
We ruled from ruins, called the destruction beautiful.
We carved legends into ash, became our own ghosts.