This poem paints the creation of the universe as a musical act.
The Composer
Before there was time, before there was “was,”
before because of our worldly forms
we had worry, nature, norms, there was
a simple singularity, with parity of all matter,
not created, not yet fated to one day die:
a time before you, a time before I.
And into this frame, of potential pure,
sure of foot and gentle nature, stepped the greatest composer
ever to be, into that small, vast, primordial symphony.
I cannot really tell you now the proportions of him,
whether he was massive or tightly trim,
or how he came to rise above and generate
the world he had come then to create. A great composer,
is all I say of that first melody, and that first day.
There came a chord, vibrations stirred: melodies
of stars were heard, and with them, worlds away,
that before in darkness lay. And with that first melody sung,
the age of ages and being begun.
Stars alight; soon, endless night was tempered
by throbbing of the Word. Stars came, planets turned,
churned the world, and ever yearned we to know
who had made us, if he stayed us, to guide us further
on the way he had set us on on that first day.
But him to see, I do not know if we can ever
do it so; but always before us, the everlasting chorus
singing the music born so very long ago:
as far back as ever we can know.
Leave a comment