Who is stronger?
Death?
Or life rising from the sarcophagus
of the universe?
Who called it forth
from the dark atoms?
Who filled the emptiness
with a blessing?
How did the poem
create its words,
and say them in the darkness?
Who dares deny their miracle
puffed up with self importance?
When they are simply beautiful.
Wonderful.
Life congealed in a soul.
Saying,
no such thing could exist.
Roses without color.
Children without parents.
We know better,
to believe
the God gene inside us.
We hear it whisper,
laughing and crying,
bless the children.
Bless the children!