The Golden One

 whittle, hew, scrape, and peel

a caste made a bit too real

a line of silver set to seal

a god made out of clay

once worked his hands to wracked

to the kiln the die is stacked

the fire tended never lacked

the potter set to stay

as time performed its chore

the potter's faith soon was wore

in the clay grew a rotten core

and he would rue this day

such things should never be

in the end this apogee

unleashed a sin that had no lee

a god made out of clay