Creation Believed - Poem by Jeremy Deacon
Dark is the night. Constellations shine governing the night's light. Raging is the furnace sun glowing rays off the moon. Silent is the nowhere of space nothing no tune. Craters surface as shadow on the rock. Ridges of mountains pierce the edge shadowing flock. Whole galaxies remain abyss never to be touched. Believing in creation seems the answer as much. Blinding beams of U.V's melt the ice. Truly is the working hand of a creator as Scientology believes otherwise. Dark is the night. Clouds hover above blocking the light. Rain falls from the cloud. Gravity takes its toll, each drop to the ground. So shines the sun on the earth. Warmth grasps a hold of vegetation growing with girth. Bright is the day of present. Flying with grace in earth's wind is the Pheasant, feeding its young nursing them health, prospering on grain eating their wealth. Dark is the night upon the dusk of day. Screeching creatures prey on the plague, feeding until the dawn of day. Everything works proper by design, believing in a creator divine. The planet remains a forest of creation knowing how it's made. Some say big bang, cells and membranes. How much can this believed by people insane. Faith far greater for this belief, creator says and so lies the earth beneath.
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