Genesis: The beginning

 Here is a poem based on the creation narrative of Genesis 1, weaving its language and majestic progression into a form of praise.

**Before the Foundation**

Before the first note, a silence deep,

A void without form, a restless sleep.

Then over the face of the dark, wild deep,

Your Spirit did hover, a vigil to keep.

You spoke. Not a shout, but a whisper of might,

“Let there be!”—and then shattered the night.

A light not of sun, but of Your own face,

To measure the darkness and give it its place.

You spoke again—a vault, vast and blue,

To separate waters, the ancient from new.

You called it the heavens, a canvas so wide,

For the brushstrokes of glory You had yet to provide.

A word, and the waters in chaos did swirl,

Then gathered in basins, a new-pearled world.

Dry ground from the deep, a birth from the foam,

You named it the Earth, its first, rightful home.

Then You looked on the dust, so barren and bare,

And whispered a life-song to float on the air.

A carpet of green, a fruit-bearing tree,

A garden of goodness, for all yet to be.

You spoke to the black, to the sunless domain,

And pinpointed the lights that lessen the strain.

The sun for the day, the moon for the night,

A dance of the seasons, a celestial light.

You filled the new waters with a shimmering race,

Great beasts of the deep in their liquid space.

You filled the new heavens with a feathery throng,

And taught them the shape of a jubilant song.

Then from the good earth, a louder call came,

The cattle, the creatures, each one with a name.

The prowling, the grazing, the great and the small,

A moving mosaic, completing it all.

And then, in the hush of the sixth evening’s breath,

You stopped, and You gathered the clay from the earth.

Not with a word, but with hands we can’t see,

You fashioned an icon, to look like You, to be free.

Your image, Your likeness, with spirit and soul,

To steward this world and make the parts whole.

Male and female, a reflection of grace,

To stand in Your garden and look on Your face.

You saw all You made, and the word was the same—

A thunderous, quiet, “It is good!” it came.

The symphony finished, the last chord was played,

And on the seventh, a foundation was laid—

A silence of rest, where Your glory still stays.