Is there a Creator of this world we call home?

Never have I questioned 
if the delicacy 
I bite into 
was made.
Never do I question 
if the bed 
I sleep in 
was designed
Why must we question 
if the ground we walk on 
had a Maker?

Never do I assume 
to use technology 
without a 
manual
for the designer 
knows 
the inner workings 
of the systems they 
created,
and it would be 
foolish 
for me to think 
I don’t need their 
instruction. 

I don’t gaze on a masterpiece 
without wonder of the 
artist
I can’t listen to the song
without knowing 
someone 
penciled down 
notes 
as the song played
in their
imagination. 

So why would we think 
that this universe 
we get to live on;
the painted evenings,
the majestic mountains,
the soft breeze rustling 
the new leaves,
the emerging bud,

each perpetual 
morning,
all of the miracles we see 
and cannot see—
all this, 
exists without 
a Maker?

Would we then need 
to be accountable 
to the Maker?
Because never 
has a bowl
told its potter 
how 
to form 
it. 

Would we then have to 
admit 
that we are not 
the ultimate
we are not in control
as we thought?
That we must pay 
homage
to a transcendent 
Power?

Would we have to acquiesce 
to the Maker’s manual
on how to live
our one life?
Instead, we want to 
stand on the 
chance
that this is all,
we are all
there is.
And hope
we are
not
wrong.


-Mary Folkerts