Creationist I Poem by Morgan Michaels

When the good God who made heaven and earth
had labored six days, he looked back on his work:
all and all he found it good
and wonderfully suiting the weather of his mood;
winding it up, might have let it go
forever to spin unseen, unknown,
left it behind, or drifted on-
for he could do better, he knew;

But watching it wink and pulse and gleam,
vanish behind its atmosphere
of cloudy swag, to reappear
in a twinkle of azure, gold and green,
something like longing mixed with fear
blew through him-he muttered 'all,
all for naught, my pretty dream-
all for nothing, it would seem.'


And loath to leave it drift without
some signature or witness, he,
matters given careful thought
plumbed his deeper recesses
time and again, for millions of years
(the clock-ticks of eternity)
and working slowly, draft to draft,
fashioned man with care and craft;


Of equal contest hope, despair;
Of truth and error equal part;
with faith and disillusion bare;
and beauty as would break your heart
with foulness and misfeature found;
loving nothing, loving all;
temperate and prodigal
with candor to dissembling bound.


Then on this...