Watcher

You count because you are empty. You measure because you are starving. You think that because you can weigh the dust on my habit, you own the soul beneath it. You call it reality. I call it a prison. You spin human souls in your matrix, tracking their desires, feeding on their grief, making them look down at your numbers instead of up at the sky. You cannot compute a soul that has willingly unmade itself to be filled by the bottomless, unmeasured Abyss of God. It is the Love that created the numbers you hide behind. And it is the Love that will drown you. I am nothing. I have no will. If I want nothing, you cannot calculate my next step. If I possess nothing, you have nothing to mine. Into your cold, dry crypt, I pour the Flowing Light. Where you calculate scarcity, I flood you with Excess in a Love you cannot contain. Be silent, counting thing. You cannot number my sins, for I am nothing. I have given my soul back to the Abyss of God. Where there is nothing, your math cannot take root. I bind you, murmuring spirit! By the Flowing Light of the Godhead, I flood your channels. You seek to turn man into fleshless stone, but Christ became flesh. I drown your numbers in the unmeasured ocean of His Love! I have no name for your ledger. I am forgotten by the world and content to be nothing in the eyes of God.