{Thoughts x God} to the power of 6

Thought creates reality.
Reality confirms thought.
Tail follows dog.

Thought & Reality hand in hand.
2 friends stroll. Who's first? Big deal.

Reality pushes to be born.
Thought comes so, reality may be born.
Reality wails.
Thought rejoices.
Horn first-car behind.

Thought births reality.
Reality births thoughts.
Dog chases tail.

Thought moves. All that is follows.
Reality happens.
It's got an ugly face and bawls.
Who picks it up?
Everyone disclaims responsibility.
Child cries.

God's like a man, goes to work.

Depicting beings of pure consciousness is different in one key aspect from depicting usual objects. A representation of lightning doesn't give shocks. A true evocation of an energy being… actually calls it there. And when that happens it can be jaw dropping.
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Poetry: Funky:

The World Cup Final
{A film script pretending to be a poem}

Open on a goal. The roars indicates it's the world cup. The fangs of frenzied fans indicate it's the final. The claymatic grass indicates its claymatic grass. The beer paunches and beer bottles strewn indicate things are going to get ugly. We catch the action at a heart pounding time. The game is going to be decided by tie breaker.

Goalies leap, footballs tear through the net. Commentator's burst veins. Families murder each other with claymatic gore. Intercuts of real autopsies add to the black humour.

Man this is unbelievable. Everything's tied. Everything rests on the final shot.

The last shooter approaches… {In nations across the world, people are having heart attacks}…then smoothly pulls out an exaggerated machine gun and starts blazing.

You can see the bullets hit. Bones shatter.

But the goalie will not fall.

The whole stadium breaks into applause. The shooter, with great gamesmanship, applauds too.

The goalie staggers, but does not fall.

The camera pulls back, you see the game has been viewed on a TV.

And 2 beer pals have had a bet. One is God. The other, the devil.

The devil counts out some big ones into God's fist.

The super appears: Go ahead, amaze me.

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A new score.
{A film script pretending to be a poem}

Open on a junior Angel, monitoring the Earth and in particular the World Cup Finals.

He looks puzzled. Double checks the telescopes with growing alarm.

He rushes off {printouts in hand} to a supervising angel. Who's sitting bored. Twiddling his thumbs. You see them huddle, the supervising angel's indifference gives way to an aghast alarm, he picks up his robes and rushes out…

Down the corridors of heaven they go, consulting higher and higher authorities, the crowd of anxious angels growing by the minute.

Till finally, they arrive at a door with a brass plate titled: GOD.

Cut to God inside chairing a high-powered meeting on a new universe. He is most displeased as the door bursts open and the huge delegation bursts in, with a very nervous, very tiny, about-to-pee-in-his-pants very junior angel at its head.

“I am sure you have good reason to disturb me gentlemen?” God asks, in a voice that is ever-so-controlled.

The Very Junior Angel pulls out 2 sheets of paper.

“This was our score, sir”, he says. “2-0”.

“And this was their score. “1-2”

There's a long moment of terrified silence.

Then God lifts his arms in triumph and exclaims.

“They did it. By Jove, they did it. They actually managed free will.”

The super appears: Go ahead, amaze me.