On the seventh day God sat around in his bedroom,
lazily lounging in his comfiest warm clothes
feeling relieved that he scraped through his deadline.
On the seventh day God pressed against his radiator
and checked through all of the work that he'd submitted
but couldn't feel warm pride at his rushed, half-hearted effort.
On the seventh day God looked out of his window
watching the condensation from his breath ebb away
and realised the view wasn't as beautiful as he thought.
On the seventh day God retreated back to the comfort of his bed,
wishing that he could have another chance to create perfection
because inactivity bored him and his tired eyes could see all the world's faults.
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