In The Beginning

In the dawn, amidst the stardust

And the what-if’s and the wonder,

Was the word.

The word became words,

And the words became worlds.

And the worlds were seen.

Heard.

Known.

Felt, in the falling raindrops

That shatter, down from the rolling clouds.

The worlds, in the words,

Live in the intricacies of snow white petals.

They’re alive in a melodic laugh, a harmonic tear.

They sing in the sadness, eclipsing despair

Like a lullaby on a mother’s tongue.

The worlds, in the words,

Breathe in sorrow, and in happiness.

In effervescence and in humility.

They are meaningful,

Equally in silence and in noise.

Sometimes, the worlds are a beautiful void -

A space between the clause.

A comma.

Suspended.

Sometimes, they are a mess of noise

A clash, a shout,

A churning, roaring joy.

The worlds, in the words,

Are in the still.

In the flurry.

In the explanation

In the pause.

And we, with our humble bones and shaky voices,

Are the craftsmen.

The curators,

Creators

Of the worlds, in the words.

Writers, speakers, makers, mystics.

Human and divine.

Eternal, and in time.

Nestled deep in the abyss;

Held in the grip

Of the end, in the beginning.