In the Beginning (Poetry)

In the beginning was the word -
an utterance believed divine
that echoed through the pitch black void
unrolling plans for space and time.

The darkness shook and seethed and swam
as gasses hissed and matter roiled -
a cauldron stirred by lightning hands
while the great brewing heaved and boiled.

Then, cooked and cooled, the colours ran -
blue and green and earthy-brown -
and from the mix, late-comer man
crawled forth and claimed his tinpot crown.

And what had started wholesome, good,
began to rot - become defiled,
all purpose lost, misunderstood -
the spirit wilful, grown too wild.

The visionary knows too well
the ecstasy of bright ideas
that glitter in their fragile shells
but shatter when a finger nears.

The word was neither curse nor spell
but Love - that has its own true lore -
forgiving failure, primed to quell
all doubt and set to try once more.