God is a body with a thousand hands.
Each hand owns a thousand fingers, and that’s how He sculpted the Earth:
Molded it, cradled Creation in His gentle arms, and gave it shape.
And all I am is a tiny fingerprint,
No purpose or will to call my own, nor name nor house to call my home.
Just an imprint, on a tiny fingertip.
No moving action, no stasis or signature –
Just the royal crest and evidence of a savage beast
Stamped, burned, and branded in love.
Like gloss finished driftwood we float dead in the cast gray sea,
All the tiny fingerprints,
You and me,
Waiting, undeserving, and praising our King.
He is beautiful.
