In the beginning was
the song of love.
Alone in empty nothingness
and space
It sang itself through
vaulted halls above
Reached gently out to
touch the Father’s face.
And all the tracklessness
where worlds would be
Cried “Father” through the
aching void. Sound tore
The distant chasm, and eternity
Called back — “I love you, Son —
sing Troubadour!”
His melody fell upward
into joy
And climbed its way
in spangled rhapsody.
Earthmaker’s infant stars
adored his boy,
And blazed his name through
every galaxy.
“Love,” sang the Spirit Son
and mountains came.
More melody, and life
began to grow.
He sang of light, and Darkness
fled in shame
Before a universe
in embryo.

“The Singer”