ORIGINS: REFLECTIONS

by John Herlihy

I
Imagine a time
In olden times,
When time was new
And nothing had come before,
The time of origins,
Sprung primordial, woven mythical.
When all things existed
Not as a pale sun
Or old man in the moon
But original and unique
For the very first time.

II
In a far distant land,
Beyond the dampness of dew,
With suns still unborn,
Moons with darkened hue,
Awaiting their borrowed light.
The ship of state lies in luminescence,
A silhouette of light against the dark celestial horizon,
Patiently waiting for the signal to embark,
The world ready to speak its first word: “Hark!”
Time still stood still, awaiting its mark.

III
Nothing but darkness all around,
Something stirred into life unbound,
A sound tweeted, the whole world heard,
The first bird chirped its first word.
A breath first felt,
Seen white against a winter pelt.
First snowflakes fall,
First icicles melt.
The scent of water,
The smell of wooded pine,
Awaken the senses without reason or rhyme.
First sounds chime.
A human breath blew forth a sign,
Seen as white as light
On the cold winter night.

IV
The light of stars made their presence felt,
In the light of animal eyes dwelt.
The newly created world full of angels,
To serve as emissaries of the new frontier.
In the wind stirred the sound of chimes,
Night sounds echoing within heavenly climes.
The world not yet turning on its magical tour,
Still pristine and innocent and unbelievably pure.

V
Time’s bow was newly strung;
Time’s trajectory had not yet begun;
Time’s arrow had not yet stung;
Time’s light had not yet flung
Its shadow across the land.
Time’s sun not yet burning bright,
To kill the pitch darkness of the dark night.
All of outer space wanting to be bright,
Without recourse to a single light.

VI
Out of eternity’s inverted bowl,
Time’s ink drop fell onto the earthly scroll,
With stories to tell,
That will ring like a bell,
With generations to tell.
The ink will continue to fall in sacred vow,
Writing timely verses in the presence of now,
Scribbling down events by the sweat of her brow.
The future never truly arrives,
Before disappearing into the past.
For one brief moment, we exist as now.

VII
What happened? You may ask.
The present moment arrived unheralded,
Unfurling its banner before blowing away.
The swallow looked around in wonder.
“Hello now,” the bird said, addressing the day.
The moment answered, resounding like thunder,
Then faded quietly away.