In the beginning

 

In the beginning

there was love and music.

The truth that ticks

in the tocks of the universal clocks.

Two elements of our atomic hearts.

Before light, before dark.

Before earth, and the stars.

 

Before the sun and the moon

There was the galactic tune.

 

The song of the emptiness.

 

The rhythm of time, before time

had even begun to chime.

 

In the beginning there was nothing

but the beat. That rhythmic ripple

in the cosmic seas, and as the

waves emerged from nothing,

they added their

own delicate percussion.

 

The dust began to swirl,

forming worlds. Chiming along,

woodwinds to the song.

In the distance the spheres

sung in echoes.

A choral explosion of

of expression, notes

that rose like hills and fell

in crescendo

like the frayed ends of time herself,

somewhere far in the untold future.

 

The song sung of love.

For one. For all.

For now, and for future.

For yesterday, today

and days yet to be.

It sung of you and me,

it sung of they and them,

he and she.

Beast and beauty.

Feast and hunter.

It sung of days yonder.

And in all

it sung of laughter and wonder.

 

In the beginning there was song.

In the beginning there

was a note played into the void,

and the void sung along.

In the beginning there was a chord,

A striked chime across

the burgeoning worlds,

one of hope, acceptance and love.

 

And in the end, there

will be a scratched record,

warped and wobbling,

a distant recording,

faint but still playing.

As the needle repeats

the phrase over and over.

Love. Love. Love.

Before fading away

into the failing galaxy.