It was the first day.
Even as the Earth
I drew the clouds of self about me;
blocking out a Sun
Who never ceased to shine.
And in that darkness,
I wept with great sadness:
turning the dust beneath me to cloying mud...
Caught in the mire between me and Thee.
Now it is the second day.
Green shoots have fought their way
through dirt and weighing sod.
From the muck arises a teeming life;
even the worms have purpose.
Tomorrow, it will be the third day.
When the sun shall break from the clouds,
and the mist of self -- of airy substance only --
will know an end to such days as these.