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