Creation Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

blinding void,
unlearned mind;
weary empty depths,
the cry, what time wants;
in that night, after fending off,
the symbolic cords of livings order;
those eons, of fingers and hands prying,
giving innocence, to minds and heart's bleat;
life like paper, upon such is penned whose words,
discarded there as waste, thrown down into life's fire;
stoked coals, becoming ember red, resisting death,
mixing the bellows powered wind, smoldering;
yesterday's sins into tomorrow's forever's,
this moments offers, are hammered;
preciously, for then this peened,
creation, sorely cries out;
as life arises renewed,
and the darkness;
seeks the light.