The Big Bang Eerie
All things began from nothing?
And then the nothing grew?
And then turned into something,
Quite quick, just spanking new?
Then something was expanded,
Without reason or rhyme?
It all sounds underhanded,
An utter waste of time...
Of course, time helped such things occur,
But where did that come from?
How could such wonders simply stir?
Was that a new time bomb?
The speed of light was thought the same
No matter where one went,
Until new theories slowly came,
But were these Heaven-sent?
I must confess, God seems to be,
The only truth to heed,
It seems He made eternity
Because He felt the need...
He took His time creating stuff,
He show off now and then,
So that as us we'd learn to love
And each day serve again...
Some say the Earth is very old,
But others think they're mad,
When they, the evidence behold,
They shake their heads, quite sad...
They say the moon is young as well,
The moondust serves as proof,
But when the others they would tell,
The others stay aloof...
And thus, divided, here we stand,
Heads scratched till we go bald,
To say the others should be banned,
Their text books all recalled...
The Holy Bible keeps some wise,
The Christians and the Jews,
The other folks prefer the lies,
Yet they are free to choose...
If God would grant a miracle,
Perhaps folks would believe,
Be thankful if some blessings fall,
Some extra cash retrieve...
But God by money's not impressed,
That's why He sent His Son,
God loved so much, He sent the best,
But look what Man has done...
They took His Son, once glorified,
They hated Him because
The Father He had not denied,
Not even on His Cross...
The Big Bang Theory's shot to Hell,
The Big Boss Truth remains...
So choose today, sit down a spell,
It's time to use your brains!
Poet Other Poems
- * About Poem Is Not Selected.
- * About Revelation TV
- * Beauty Is Upon You
- * Here Is My Incredible Invisible Poem!
- * I Am An Elephant!
- * Stephen Gayford
- * The Cross Of Christ
- * The Prestige Of The Poppy
- * The Prince of Prints
- [+] Poemhunter [+]
- 24 Carat Heartache
- 5,4,3,2,1? We've Got Your Number!
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.