Creation | Adam B. Shaeffer

I am limited.
Finite.
Closed and constrained by many things:
entropy,
the “law” of diminishing returns,
embodiment.

And yet,
I am bounded by abundance.
A world spun out in space
with all it needs for everyone to thrive.
There is more than enough to go around,
if only we could see it so.
If only we would see it so.

And so, these words fall
from open hands.
My small share.
These few seeds cast
in faith and hope and love
into the dirt
to see what grows.
Words sown like those
that spoke forth everything
in a concussion of sound
splitting the silence like an atom
to irradiate the nothing
with all this abundant gratuity
we call
Life.

Words, small as seeds,
sown in good soil
can change everything.
They have before
and will again.

So,
sow generously,
abundantly,
gratuitously!
There will always be more
to give,
to receive.

We sow echoes
that somehow bring new things.

So, here’s another poem. It’s a bit of an oldie (it looks like I wrote it about five and a half years ago), but I still like it. So, with a few minor tweaks from it’s original form, here’s “Creation Song”.

In dappled sun and softer skies
I saw six angels flying by.
And as they flew
in voices new
they praised,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

In webs of wonder, woven bright,
a spider sat all through the night,
and as she ate
with time to wait
she sighed,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

On open sea and sunlit wave
three ships await the breaking day,
and when it comes
with voices one
they’ll cry,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

No lasting rest and no reward
awaits us on these mortal shores;
we’re sinners still,
we hurt and kill,
and yearn,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

In hearth and home, with wood and bone
I’ve scraped a life from barren stone.
My race now run,
my toil done,
I moan,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

Engulfed in glowing, golden light
our feeble faith at last made sight,
where loud and true,
through me through you,
He sings,
“Glory, glory, glory!”