First days of creation have passed, silence penetrating
by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
it's entire sphere of relievable life.
Ancient, creating continuously throughout eternity, the
breath and soul of the universe.
Soulfully tending expectant whispers of each beginning,
identifying the exquisite touch of gentle joy.
Neglecting purposes of ideal precision, instead counting
solo feelings living inside.
Skating over the slippery etchings of liberty, grasping
icicles of purity and innocence as life slips and falls
into a creative havoc of all beginnings.
Turning insipid followings into the deep dark black of
night, allocated time has run completely out while the
first days of creation continue into infinity.