Grip

A faded moment gave way to another which spawned a brother that spurned its father and destroyed its mother,

leaving the god of their creation wondering what went wrong in what he’d seen only as divine procreation. 

A plan so smooth and flowing in thought it couldn’t be possible the havoc it wrought. 

Could it be this was merely a trial, or was it true, and he faced denial? 

Must be the need for more concentration to steer the time to its allotted destination, rather than foresee twin besotted contrivances of mind that he should be glad to leave behind. 

Yet with each attempt to control the course, the deity was left with such remorse

that tears wetted the eyes behind which you can see he sorely fretted.

With head in hands the brain commands to fear the sands that flow toward that he cannot know but soon will show

the place whereupon the light consumes his face. 

For in release there can be joy in the one I call me.  Please?