Spiraled Scripture

Class in session, schedule sticks

Clock moves standardly in ticks

one two three five eight thirteen

(Can someone tell me what this means?)

Sequence spirals from the ink

Math on paper makes me think

Is there a greater force that leads

My pen to chart the frame of leaves?

And not just leaves, my face proportioned!

Faith is fickle, math is certain

Trace the curves of shells on beaches

Pastors talk, but cell shape preaches

Patterns build, my thoughts are scattered

“Meaningless” perceptions shattered

These ratios multiply like rabbits:

It’s in the grass that they inhabit

You can preach that there’s no god

Or that there’s only one to see

But my conviction stands with this:

The scripture written in the trees