Timothy Lawton

7-2-1998

Ma’aseh Bereshit those beautiful words that are at the beginning of all creation
The being of life and host of heavens the seed and flower of all my joy
And the very root of all my sadness
Oh, if that last line could only be struck out
My poem could be one of jubilation
One of praise and without damnation
But, instead I am left to wither as the earth is left to waste
Ma’aseh Bereshit has brought forth nothing for me to lament
Then wherefore does my sadness find its root?
I will tell you where
In the heart of darkness in the breath of fire
In the Apocalypse of the world the destruction of all things
The Lord has blessed me and mankind has taken it away
The Lord has taught me and I understand why he regretted he has ever made mankind
Not that God and I don’t delight in what has been made
But, simply that we now weep for what is being done
I pray for my affliction to be lifted, but realize that I have been born to the worst of times
The seas sear and the land laments
The trees tremble and the creatures cry
Creation crumbles
The earth is angry and my countenance reveals its rage
What is good is considered evil
What is evil is considered good
All that is wrong with the world goes unnoticed
The storms strike in streams of anger ravaging all that lay in their path
Yet, man believes he has refuge in his cities a haven in his home
Security is thought to be safe in hand
The future is sure and thoroughly planned
Yet, time testifies against us we surely will reap what we have sown
We are but an iron statue with clay feet and truly we will tumble to the ground
Murderous children will grow to full sized hounds
Dogs of the devil are being raised and the land is not the only thing we have set ablaze
Passions ruled by fiery flames are fanned by the wind desire
We have chosen our Lord and bow to our sire
But, still our eyes cannot see
We are the swarm of locusts darkening the sky
Feeding on creation and cannibalized
Ma’aseh Bereshit, Barah, that which only God creates
And we, it is only we who destroy
Death is of our own making
The clay is of our own shaping
And we have thrown the whole world into the kiln, but we can’t feel the flames
I see in frustration and know in disbelief
I can’t stand the fire or get used to the heat
Dear God, dear God when again will you speak the words
Ma’aseh Bereshit