Each a Creation of The Big Bang are we perhaps, maybe?
Must marvel at what we are, and hither have come to be,
A gala of implications in a Christmas tree snow globe
Surpassing in wizardry its incidence arose
Back, back in time before, the stars galore were not nightly lit
Nor circuits cut their curves, surrounding, bounding round
Of merry motley fun; the sun;
Then surfeits of unsettlement carked, and indisposed did broil
And that dark backward and abysm, berserk, worked chaos’s throes
Foreshadowing madmen’s crazinesses, in a swirl of virtual squalls,
Wild frights and bright infractions, interactions, tore their strifes
In preternatural clashes moiled – and God knows just what else,
Were we then – in the glad-eye of good God – a twinkle then?
As in our natural fathers’ were we once concupicence
A live delight anticipated, yea, rudely dilate –
Unmade, all unconceived
What wars, high cavils, cosmic cares, stood then to be fulfilled
That mayhem’s moot materials processed to the solid fact
Into pat hardened concrete things, the things we see, and be
Our cage confined?
If not this happens, has been, then that call’s misunderstood,
Which from the singularity a God brought nectars forth,
And pollens, runner beans, and hot buttered mashed potato
Into the hands that beat it, jaws that eat it – heavenly!
Is it as The Preacher has it ‘all is vanity’
All reason a much acclaimed inflamed local insanity
A mirror glass which gives upon actute distended anarchy
And how can such things be?
No more a flea or baccilus declares a lisssome compass
Has been accomplished in the wealds of wisdom’s wicked language
And Old King Cole delivering sacks no more his raincloud thunders
And God no King?
Know that I must at the last prefer cahoots with Dostoevsky
To stick with limpet grip onto my Saviour’s piercěd side
Were even my Master Jesus blackballed, blandly implicated,
From among the walks of men, no more their Higher Paradigm
And therefore brought to nought
I do remain His man.