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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?


redeem him

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


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