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THE FIRST WRITER
<p><br/></p><p>Before ink found paper,</p><p>before paper found palm,</p><p>before palm found the trembling courage to confess,</p><p>there was THE FIRST WRITER.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not a man with a pen,</p><p>not a woman with a scroll,</p><p>but a Presence</p><p>who wrote with light upon the face of darkness.</p><p><br/></p><p>When the world was formless and void,</p><p>He did not shout, neither did He scream.</p><p>He simply wrote.</p><p><br/></p><p>“Let there be,”</p><p>and the sun signed its signature across the sky.</p><p>He wrote, “Let there be,”</p><p>and the oceans curved like obedient sentences.</p><p>He wrote, “Let there be,”</p><p>and mountains rose like capital letters</p><p>declaring obedience to the Commander.</p><p><br/></p><p>The wind became a whispering paragraph.</p><p>The trees became standing metaphors.</p><p>The rivers flowed like ink</p><p>from an eternal well that never runs dry.</p><p><br/></p><p>THE FIRST WRITER</p><p>did not need paper</p><p>the sky was His parchment.</p><p>He did not need ink</p><p>the stars were His punctuation.</p><p><br/></p><p>And then,</p><p>He bent low to dust,</p><p>scooped clay into intention,</p><p>and authored a heartbeat.</p><p><br/></p><p>Man became a manuscript.</p><p>Woman became a poem.</p><p>Breath became the autograph of divinity</p><p>signed into fragile lungs.</p><p><br/></p><p>Listen.</p><p><br/></p><p>Every scar on your skin</p><p>is a written chapter.</p><p>Every tear you cry</p><p>is liquid punctuation.</p><p>Every survival</p><p>is a bolded sentence that refused to be erased.</p><p><br/></p><p>You call yourself a writer?</p><p><br/></p><p>Then remember:</p><p>you only echo the rhythm</p><p>of THE FIRST WRITER.</p><p><br/></p><p>When you craft love,</p><p>you borrow from the One</p><p>who first said it was good.</p><p>When you write pain,</p><p>you mirror the cross-shaped comma</p><p>that paused history but did not end it.</p><p><br/></p><p>THE FIRST WRITER</p><p>crafted the night to wait for morning.</p><p>He crafted seeds to believe in tomorrow.</p><p>He crafted two oranges, teaching them patience</p><p>for the hands that know what they want.</p><p>He crafted mortar to wait for pestle.</p><p>He portrayed silence as a character</p><p>strong enough to carry prophecy.</p><p><br/></p><p>So write.</p><p><br/></p><p>Write like thunder rolling across dry bones.</p><p>Write like rain arguing with dust.</p><p>Write like a soul that remembers</p><p>it was once spoken into existence.</p><p><br/></p><p>Because before you ever held a pen,</p><p>you were already written.</p><p><br/></p><p>And the Author</p><p>is still editing</p><p>the story of your becoming.</p><p><br/></p><p>THE FIRST WRITER</p>
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