Whether author or God, it’s his own redemption –
his or hers – the creator seeks, creating. A desperate quest, but something must be done.
Redemption’s most convincing that’s hardest won:
The worse, the better,
the Redeemer’s Rule.
So more comfortably accomplished through a proxy
in a subordinate frame of reference. If I’m God,
I’ve got no choice: my creation’s all I’ve got.
And though my surrogate – character or creature –
must suffer, suffer awfully, he – he or she –
mustn’t be purely victim. Else I were purely monster!
He allows, at times his abuse is just desert.
Between pleas for forgiveness he rails at me.
Between episodes of torture I pity him, hold out hope.
Can I really redeem myself by shunting my predicament
to the next story down?
whose proxy – presumably – I am?
And what choice has he, my creature, but likewise
to undertake his own redemption?
by his own Word
tease a cruel world out of the Void . . .
and though the suspicion of depravity will nag at him