The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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Friday, 23 March 2012
In the beginning: light.
Nowhere was there not light,
for all that was to be was bathed in light -
for time and tense had not begun -
and even in the strongest darkness there was light,
for the light was the light of God,
an aspect of his Godness.
And when God finally exclaimed:
Let there be light!
He was not then and there creating it,
but sanctioning its earthly form
to be perceived by those with eyes to see,
who'd welcome it.
And the light that was and is
form, colour, texture, mood
and character all lie
within its gift to us,
it is the sculptor sculpting out our world.
Not in its gift -
the darkest thing about it -
its own nature.
Light, actual and metaphorical,
as with the peace of god,
still passeth understanding -
and still the darkness
comprehends it not:
an elementary particle
that travels like a canon ball...
or like an ocean wave...
or either one at different times...
or both together, take your pick.
Yet those who cannot fathom
light as of the now, purport
to talk about its genesis!
I have submitted this poem to Poets United's Thurday Think Tank.