A Poem Inspired by Genesis 1:1-2
Before the clock of stars began,
Before the wheel of seasons turned,
Before the silent fields of night
With burning constellations burned,
There lay no shore, there stretched no sky,
No wind to wander, wave to rise—
Only the vast, unspoken deep
Hidden from all imagined eyes.
No meadow dreamed of emerald blades,
No mountain lifted crown of stone,
No rivers sought their winding beds,
No living voice was ever known.
The dark was not a cloak of grief
Nor yet the shadow cast by light;
It was a cradle without form,
A boundless, waiting sea of night.
The deep lay folded into stillness,
Unmeasured, ancient, undefined,
A wilderness of silent waters
Where time itself was yet unlined.
No horizon drew its distant curve,
No east or west held place or name;
The void stretched wide and depthless there,
Untouched by spark or living flame.
Yet over that unshapen ocean
Where neither dawn nor twilight stirred,
There moved a breath more old than silence,
A whisper deeper than a word.
No thunder marked its holy passing,
No trumpet woke the waiting air;
But softly, like a thought of mercy,
The hidden Spirit wandered there.
It drifted over sleeping waters
As wind above a moonless sea,
Not restless as the storms of autumn,
But calm with quiet majesty.
It hovered like a mother’s vigil
Above the cradle of the small,
A promise waiting in the darkness
Before the birth of light and all.
For in that deep uncharted silence
A mystery began to wake—
The seed of earth and sky and ocean,
Of every dawn the world would make.
The breath that moved across the waters
Held galaxies within its will,
And every forest yet unrooted
Lay folded in that moment still.
No star had yet rehearsed its burning,
No sun had practiced golden flame;
Yet in the hush before creation
The Maker knew each star by name.
The mountains slept within His knowing,
The rivers waited in His thought,
And every wing that yet would scatter
Across the heavens rested, caught.
The darkness was not desolation,
But canvas for the coming light;
The deep was not a tomb of silence,
But soil beneath eternal night.
For where the Spirit breathes in patience
And hovers with unhurried grace,
The void itself becomes a promise
Where life prepares to take its place.
So rested all the unborn wonders
Within that sea of shadowed breath—
The gardens green with early morning,
The creatures swift in life and death.
The laughter yet to rise from children,
The songs that saints and poets sing,
All waited in the holy silence
Before the first awakening.
And still the Spirit moved in quiet
Above the dark, uncharted deep,
As if the world were but a heartbeat
From waking out of ancient sleep.
The waters trembled not with terror
But with a hope no eye could see—
For soon would come the word of morning:
Let there be light across the sea.
But in that hour before the speaking,
When silence held the universe,
The breath of God upon the waters
Was the first and hidden verse.
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