Written by: Afton Logan
There was a deep shroud of nonexistence.
In the darkness, water lapped at nothing.
A stillness that offered no resistance,
But somewhere moved the Spirit of a Being.
God. In which lay a vision of glory.
A brilliance, a flickering white spark.
So, there was light, the first of this story,
A burst of warmth to chase away the dark.
The warmth and brilliance was called the day;
The shroud of nonexistence was the night.
One created out of a gray and black array;
The other a flare of glorious light.
The invention of our earth was underway.
The evening and morning were the first day.
The sparkling water was divided;
In the very middle God set the sky.
The burning blue vaults were ignited
With the same color that drips when we cry.
A sapphire blue sea stretched thin below;
Made the sky seem a crisp delirium.
But there was no sound nor echo. Even so,
God could hear an outcry, a deep full thrum.
This planet was begging for something new.
A breath and a being to walk on the earth.
Something that would see the differing blue.
Something to perceive its meaning and worth.
So, on the second day God made heaven,
And would continue until day seven.
The water began to tumble and roil.
It splashed and heaved great waves in the air.
Out of its depths came a rock and some soil.
On its hard surface was a vacant tear.
From here came the grass, and lilies and trees,
The color of green, the towering fir,
And all the best things to carry a breeze.
For once on this pale earth, life was astir.
It shot from the dirt and pushed up the ground,
Appeared in the veins and venules of leaves.
Then came the flowers stretched upright and proud.
Never was Solomon arrayed like these.
And so, as before, but for the third time,
God made a thing that surpassed the sublime.
Now there was light, but there wasn’t a sun.
So, God tied a string and hung a bright sphere.
Then came the moon so there wasn’t just one
And bright balls of gas to make our way clear.
The blue sky turned pink, then orange and then red,
Brand new colors in a dusky display.
As, for the first time, the sun went to bed
And cleared a path for the white milky way.
The moon got to waxing, pushing the tide.
The earth chased the sun and started to spin.
This would bring winter, a sparkling bride.
Next would come summer where snow had just been.
You see, on the fourth day of creation
God looked up and saw a constellation.
God could see that he wasn’t quite finished.
It was still so quiet, silent and still.
For His plan, earth’s space would be diminished,
But after all, wasn’t it there to fill?
He created the fish who swim and splash
And the mighty whale that breaches and sings,
Touching the air and falling with a crash,
But, of course, the sperm whale doesn’t have wings.
So, He painted pink on the flamingo.
He sent the chickadee early in noon.
Next was the raven and the kraaing crow.
Piercing the sky, was the song of the lune.
It was in no way a cacophony.
It was the fifth-day-choir-symphony.
God set a small slimy thing on a rock.
The creature would later be named the tree frog.
He aided the colt as it learned to walk
and hitched tusks on the Babirusa Hog.
Sure, it was good, but something was missing.
He loved the birds, the grass and the rainstorm,
But still God couldn’t help but start wishing
For a perfect friend made in his form.
Adam’s eyes opened; he let out a gasp;
he sucked in God’s breath which gave him his life.
God stretched out His hand and gave him a clasp,
lifting him into a world void of strife.
And in that moment, right where the two stood,
God looked and saw that it was very good.
Now, God finally felt that he was done.
He looked at the lime, the crocus, the clover,
The sky and the clouds, the moon and the sun,
He saw the starfish, the guppy, the plover.
‘Twas the most perfect thing He could create.
He breathed a light sigh, sat down in a glade,
And glanced the moon in its crescent wane state.
Thus, our God rested from all he had made.
This last day brings us to the end of our tale
Of the great earth and the sky up above
And the crisp green sea that ships always sail,
But in that night-glade all God felt was love.
See, on the very last day, God rested,
And since then, He hasn’t been bested.