If it is true,
then what I see as debris, dross,
may be somehow rearranged in You,
an altar where Your praises sing
and shine, though made of ash.
For no-one but You has eyes to see
the insides of the dark yet change
its composites and make it bright.
Only You who spoke the Word
can see the light explode.
If it is true
that you made the light ex-nihilo
and formed the domes, contained the seas
and turned the third day into dawn,
then I may be remade
though bloody red, dusty from the fight
and screaming into dark and soot,
and anti-matter in my mind;
You, it’s true, repair the black holes
in our souls and let in life.

Published by Matthew Pullar

Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.

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