Why is there something at all?
The orb spins and my lungs exhale
and child sways back to this part of the solar system
and he takes my hand
and why is there all this something
instead of nothing?
Once I read these words from Romans
and dropped the Bible:
"... the God who gives life to the dead
and who creates something out of nothing"
(Ro. 4:17 NCV).
Who dares hold Words that can do that?
Word that makes something out of nothing.
Spirit-Word takes nothing, the dead and the void,
and breathes something into the black cavities...
the life and the color.
That's why I leave the Bible on the shelf too often.
I am scared to resurrect.
Terrified that me,
in all my tattered nothingness,
might be made into something.
It's the case of the Emperor's new clothes,
us with a terrible inkling we're wearing nothing
but too proud to call it a sham.
We parade about like we're something,
but we know, we know.
It's safer to play the walking dead.
Safer to drop the Book -- never pick it up --
the Nothings playing Somethings,
than let the Word make our nothing into something.
Some days I get so bone weary of the nothing,
I get brave enough to call it what it is,
wail the truth: I have nothing on.
I am nothing. And He's ready -- if I'll take it --
He's ready to tilt back a day that's a fat zero,
a life that's a bland emptiness,
a purpose that's a hollow blank,
and breathe Living Letters into the larynx,
flood the bronchi with oxygen.
I look around at the world.
Why is there something instead of nothing?
Am I ready to be something from nothing?
Word of God, speak.