The Choice

A ball floats gently in a vast space.

The creator cradles it in his hands,

Looks at its many blemishes of darkness,

With sadness painted on his face.

But right beside each blemish,

Is a brilliant light,

Shining bright white,

Up into the creator’s eye.

As the ball spins,

A bright light fades…to darkness.

But then a blemish…darkness for light it trades.

The creator goes down to the ball,

To stand among his creation.

Among love and among desperation,

Among peace and pain,

Pride and shame,

Good and I'll,

Yes all of the master’s will.

For without dark there is no light,

Just as without weakness,

We would not know might.

Just as the Creator never had to suffer and cry,

Watching darkness rise and his creation die.

But he chose to create life.

Chose to give the ball’s inhabitants a choice.

Freedom to follow his word and his voice,

Or to do what brings them pleasure but not what brings joy.

Now he’s always there,

Offering his hand.

He loves and He cares.

He has every answer,

And he’s willing to share,

With only people who ask and search.

And in them he delights,

And can do new works.

He makes different realities and different lives,

But he separates no one,

And draws no dividing lines.

Some created lives and join him above, as they leave below.

Those that loved and searched and found and now know.

That ball still spins round,

Dark battles light without a sound.

Every smile is a spark,

And every embrace brightening up the dark.