The Art Of Thy Hands Poem by Christen Kuikoua

If I had a million tongues, they
would still fall short
of telling the beauty Your
hands have shaped.
Every line of creation bears
the quiet signature of Your
touch,

and every breath I take feels
borrowed from Your mercy.
How can I speak of the
wonder of Your work
the way morning is gently
awakened by Your command,
and evening bows in
reverence at Your whisper?

You call the sun to rise, and it
obeys without hesitation
You bid it rest, and the skies
surrender into night.

And I
I stand in the middle of it all,
undone.

Undone by a beauty too vast
for language,
too holy for mere description.

For Your art is not just seen, it
is felt
in the trembling of the soul,
in the stillness that steals the
breath from my chest.

Oh, what is man, that he
should witness such glory?

Yet here I am
held between sunrise and
sunset,

breathing in a masterpiece
that never ceases to be
made.