A Poem Inspired by John 1:1-5
Before the clock of earth had started ticking,
before dust learned the memory of footsteps,
before rivers rehearsed their silver music
through the valleys of a world not yet imagined,
there was the Word.
Not a whisper lost in emptiness,
not a syllable wandering the dark,
but a presence older than silence,
standing where beginnings kneel.
The Word was not alone
like a lantern in a vacant field;
the Word was with God
as flame is with fire,
as breath is with life,
as meaning is with a spoken name.
In that ancient nearness
before the first horizon lifted its eyelids,
before the sky stretched its long blue canvas,
the Word was already there—
steady, unshaken,
a voice deeper than oceans yet unborn.
Through Him
the hidden thoughts of creation
found their shape.
Mountains rose
like slow prayers from the bones of the earth.
The seas gathered their restless hearts
into wide, breathing chambers of blue.
Stars flung themselves like sparks
from the forge of eternity.
Nothing came to be without Him.
Not the trembling wing of a sparrow
that would one day test the wind.
Not the laughter of children
echoing through future streets.
Not the quiet green patience of trees
learning the language of sunlight.
All things passed through the doorway of His will,
stepping out from the shadows of nothing
into the bright astonishment of being.
And in Him was life.
Not merely the pulse beneath skin,
not merely the rise and fall of breath,
but the deep current
that moves beneath all living waters.
A life that hums in the roots of forests,
that trembles in the wings of dawn,
that stirs in the hidden chambers of the soul
where hope waits quietly for morning.
This life was the light of humanity.
A light not forged by human hands,
not borrowed from sun or flame,
but burning from the center of eternity
like a star that never learns the word fading.
It shines in every searching heart,
in every question whispered toward heaven,
in every longing that refuses to sleep.
It shines in the weary traveler
who lifts his eyes toward distant hills.
It shines in the broken voice
that still dares to sing.
The light shines in the darkness.
The darkness gathers its long shadows,
thick as storm clouds over a restless sea.
It stretches its fingers
through the corridors of history.
Yet the light does not retreat.
It stands like dawn
on the edge of night’s dominion,
patient and unstoppable.
Darkness studies it,
tries to swallow its fire,
tries to bury it beneath silence and stone.
But darkness cannot understand it,
cannot grasp the quiet power
of a light that was never born
and will never die.
For this light remembers
the first breath of the universe.
It remembers the moment
when nothing became something.
It remembers the voice that said
Let there be.
And still it shines.
Through the centuries of wandering humanity,
through deserts of doubt
and forests of forgetting,
the light keeps burning.
Not loud,
not desperate,
but steady as truth.
For before the first morning
there was the Word.
And where the Word is,
life begins again.
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