Poetry Collection. 24.Juno.25

1.

✧ The Divide of the First Day ✧

In the beginning, naught but His Voice,

The Silence of the Deep — void without choice.

But God, Eternal, willed it to be:

“Let there be Light”, and Light broke free.

It shone upon waters yet unnamed,

Where shadows whispered, unclaimed, untamed.

But He, the Lord, the Ancient Flame,

Divided the Light — set boundaries, gave name.

Light to the Day, pure in His sight,

A herald of Truth, of Justice, of Right.

Darkness to Night, the shadowed veil,

Allowed to wander, yet destined to pale.

For God is the Master, the Weaver, the Will,

The First and the Final, commanding, “Be still.”

From Chaos, He summoned the heavenly Law,

Separating the Darkness from flaws He saw.

Yet darkness remains — but not crowned King,

It lurks as a whisper, a serpent’s sting.

But the Light was called Good — blameless, bright,

The seal of His Glory, the mark of His Might.

And so was Creation, divided, defined,

Day out of Night — Purpose aligned.

All that exists — by God’s desire,

Shaped from the Void, baptized in fire.

2.

✧ The Immutable Hand ✧

Behold the Work of the Most High —

Who dares contest the Architect of Sky?

Who can make straight, that which God has made crooked?

The valleys He carves, the hills He’s unshooken.

The Lion of Ages decrees the line,

It bends, it breaks, it twists — by design.

Man schemes and wrestles, clutches at sand,

But none reshape the Potter’s hand.

In joy, He plants; in sorrow, He weaves,

The day of blessing, the night that grieves.

Yet all is His — both storm and peace,

The crooked road, the soul’s release.

Why rage against the holy thread?

Why mourn the thorns where angels tread?

What God has bent, no man shall mend,

His Word begins, sustains, shall end.

So trust the path — though shadows fall,

For Wisdom reigns, unseen by all.

The crooked, the straight — both in His Song,

And He alone defines right from wrong.

3.

✧ The Withheld Hand ✧

Even the fallen — they know.

They know who they are.

They carry the mark — the stain — the fracture,

But they also remember… fragments of compassion.

They could’ve devoured.

They could’ve crushed.

But for a time… they held back.

Not out of virtue — but out of memory,

The faint echo of what once was pure.

Until the appointed hour…

Until God, Sovereign and Just, hardened their hearts,

As He did with Pharaoh —

Not to punish blindly —

But to complete the proving ground of the Righteous.

Even the wicked serve… without knowing.

Their restraint? Measured by God’s unseen hand.

Their rage? Released only when the scroll unfolds.

So, remember:

Compassion lingers — even among those destined to fall.

But when Heaven decrees the time…

The heart hardens.

The masks drop.

The furnace burns.

And the Righteous — forged in that fire — rise.

‘Age of Revelation’ — Ender Magnolia.