The Hand of God

A single hand, so very small.

Dwarfed by its world of roof and walls.

A bed, a door, a floor of wood.

In limbo this place long has stood.

…

But the Hand seeks more from life.

Whether be through joy or strife.

So it heads to the room's chest,

Where figurines don't stand abreast.

…

Just piled in, manner slipshod.

Played with by uncaring gods.

If it had mouth, the Hand would say,

"Figurines, it's time to play."

…

"I'll give you worlds as battlefields,

Where you will fight until foe yields.

More will join you over time.

In eternal conflict so sublime."

…

It glances at the figurines.

From a plumber to a space marine.

But its choice, a pink puffball.

Puts it on a table by the wall.

…

Sets up the room, yes, time to go.

Time to get on with the show.

The Hand counts down, from three to one.

Time for it to start its fun.

…

Kirby's first to get life's spark.

But from the chest others depart.

It's time to fight, it's time to play,

It's time for smashers all to slay.

…

So now they face infinity.

Brothers all in misery.

Forever battle in worlds grand,

Strings always held by Master Hand.