The Prodigal God am I, my gifts for all that strike
their hammer upon the forge or their maul upon a spike.
Glorious toys are my passion, for they show the mind
at its fullest, the works a chorus to the direction of thought.

And to me, the thought is no more than a diagram
for the case to be put into place, gears to be arranged
and the edge honed to a sharpness unknown to all others.
Look on the beauty of my works, and give thanks

Attention to each detail is paramount,
let no imperfections escape my eye,
and let them be ground smooth or serrated
Their end goal is the same and the purpose clear.

How great to know your place within the world,
To know that all shall praise your works.
Once I felt I was due more than honors for my duty
and sought to be the consort of wisdom

I paid no heed to the needs of wisdom, nor her desires
instead seeking to force wide the secrets she hid
and give them to my heirs as a gift of my line
And yet wisdom eluded me, save for the gift of awareness

So I make my gifts for love.
Even though my love often spurns the hand that makes her adornments.
And delivers them to the cruel and proud
as payment for favors rendered.

Who then make use of such tools as is their wont
which I made for nothing but the desire
to see a smile upon the face of man
To keep him safe from other man who loved me not.

But once they had gained my gifts they looked away
And all men became that other man
And they quaked in fear not of the gods
But in fear of the men who thought themselves equal.

The toys of Troy lay in ruins,
for such is the nature of a toy.
It is to be used till the amusement fades,
And the matter is settled.

Then those terrible and beautiful placed upon a wall
and other simpler toys are brought forth to serve
For the games have ended, and now lays the heavy task
Of forging the plow and the scythe.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2Aco73B4L0]