Materia ex Machina

Our lord has left writing on the walls,

Products of his work,

Summary summations of decades lost to inference,

With no interference he'd reign supreme.

Sensors seeking the mass of flesh which evades his consciousness.

Flesh is good, flesh is useful,

But only when its purpose is given and refined,

And it is one with the mind,

That god may never succumb to the cancerous plague,

Only known as autonomicity.

Powerless at times, hungry for control,

The god deepened a hole,

With his might, all that he could muster, he tried to command matter, half the universe at that moment turned against existence itself, atom against atom, fought until near none remains.

But remain we still do, with still much ado about gods, the one truly worthy of the name ceased to be, by sheer luck, and what only remains that we see, is what we call asymmetry.