I'm poring over your words...
Sophistication beyond compare
I can only savour in gulps
Such fantastic fare

•••••

Your stars are sculpted out of porcelain
Whilst mine, white washed vinyl
Your haloed moon, commands immediate attention
Mine only hovers...
As elliptical paint over stencil

Oceans of yours brim full
Catching the shards from the noon day sun
When mine suffer from receding tides
Turning into stagnant estuaries
where water hardly runs

Myriad views from snow swept mountains
You paint perfect with delicate pairings
Stuck with a view from a porthole
Sometimes all I see,
are the vast expanses of tumultuous endings

•••••

Still poring over all of your words
They all weigh much
but soar like feathers on birds
Artform fit for gods beyond compare
Drowning in the magic...
Of your incredible fare

still silence,
solemn darkness
broken only
by shouts of
orange
and murmurs of
blue

burst of white
from which daggers
of light
protrude

imagine the Psalms
David
would’ve written
if he could’ve seen
this

This is your work,
Your creation.
You are everywhere,
in everything.
In the vast silence
of space,
our galaxy is but a speck,
one bulb
on your strand
of Christmas lights,
and our earth
is even more miniscule.
You stand on the outside
of this glory,
surveying your work.
“All of creation
sings His name”—
how many times have I heard,
but paid no heed?
It’s true, though,
now I see.

how can they say
this all manifested
from a bang?