Joy

Gods weep not for mortal men. For gods know no men are mortal. Yet when mortality faces men, men weep for those who are mortal. But I am not the one in flesh. Nor men that yet lay still. Who we are is all we're not. And we are not of flesh.

Be this world through human lens, I am I who sees. Be these thoughts in human tongue, I am I who thinks. I am I who sits behind. I am I who feels. The time that passes is but my expression. For I cannot be without time.

The gods who watch us from above look down on us with pity. To them to whom time matters not, no time is there to pass. But gods feel not emotion. Such is the eye who sees.

So what is man to do? When mortals are to weep? When time is that which passes? When I am I who sees? I cannot know my future. Nor the purpose of my past. The present is forever. In the present I do weep.

Knowing joy does not end tears. Nor does understanding. The gods that themselves know what joy should bring do not themselves know joy. Nor do they weep. For the tears we shed are of our flesh. And our joy is being man.