Disclaimer: Song lyrics that appear in this story are not owned by me, they are owned by a very talented singer and songwriter named Annie Lennox she also owns the line pools of silver water that being said please don't sue me all I own are my poetry, my computer, and my memories. Also if the poem and the first few paragraphs look familiar it is because I posted them earlier under one of my other pen names Sylvia Sylverton the poem is called "Untitled" and the first few paragraphs are under the story of the same name "Truth Revealed" since this is an updated version of that story. Also during God's POV there is a line that I don't own "eyes of a little god" that line is from Sylvia Plath's poem "Mirror", this story is very loosely based on ideas presented from that poem. I also mention Alice and Wonderland, which is owned by Lewis Carroll.
"Truth Revealed"
by Sylvia Sylverton

The truth- people spend their whole lives searching for their one truth- that one purpose that makes their lives worth living. They come to me in their entire splendor begging me to show them as they really are. But they're not ready for that kind of honesty, they're not ready to know the truth.

A woman stands before me, her tears fog up my lenses, she is hurt by what she sees, she wants me to change, change just for her. Foolish humans they actually believe that we are like God that we can take something and change it. They think that we could reverse time if we wanted to, but time stands still for no one. The woman picks me up; her hands are shaking so badly I fear that she may drop me. She looks through me as if I am a pool of silver water, an image that can easily be broken, rippled or changed. But I refuse to be broken that easily.

I can imagine what she is feeling, a mixture of nervousness and fear, her hands are shaking wildly with anticipation, and she can't wait to see. She is searching for something, something that she longs for, something she knew once, something she had long ago, for some aspect of herself that is long gone. Her heart breaks before my very eyes, she is tired of herself, tired of life. She feels unimportant, like no one would care if she disappeared. But she is important to me. She cherishes me although I am the one that brings her anguish. Without me she is nothing, and without her I have no purpose. For a mirror without a reflection, is nothing more than a carved piece of glass.