The first in a series of poems inspired by the mythology of Final Fantasy XIII.
Scorched dry earth, cracking
Pulse, within his mighty grasp
Lifted up, crunching
Turned to ash inside his fist
He looked round, musing
Seeing chaos swirl about
And called Death, binding
To create life's meager form
Flawed beings, lacking
Requiring fitting servants
Upon Death, calling
Created beings Lesser
Pulse, intervening
Made to make them something more
But Flawed came, gifting
Lesser power to now hold
Great power, seeping
Into Lesser's very cores
And in time, making
Monsters of their dear children
Bound to a fate, unwilling