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Books are always written

by a writer

and a poem never falls into place

by random chance

words are like atoms

twisting in the literary dance

arranged by intention

a force of intelligence

which is why

when I see a world full of something

I think that there must be something more

than our spinning ball

which is why

when I watch a world of human failing

I think there must be something greater

then the consequences of our fall

a mystery

tangled in an enigma

yet, strangely knowable

above

and outside

our earthen vessel

the majesty

the sun, burned into my retina

yet, strangely wonderful

love

waits

for the humble

the glory

the stars, a cosmic antenna

beaming bright, a sign for the simple