The origins debate moves, now and then,

Each government and person on this ball.

It hits us on our views of things back when,

Then fakes a bit, but it confronts us all.

Awake again! Awake! And shake our sphere.

Arise, and through affairs of life, please stroll.

Chosen world views dictate what we hold dear.

Comes into play each time we set a goal.

So cast your shadow over us, don't wait,

Until we don't ignore the views we hold.

Move men and women, all, fuel the debate,

We'll see we choose the future we unfold.

There's many views of life from which to pick,

Choose well, and give the others, the big flick.

It's our transcendent view of life which gels,

How life reflects a rich eternal mind

That pre-existed matter, time and cells,

The source of these and certainly not blind.

Deliberate and purposeful design -

That's what this view expects us to believe.

So with design around us looking fine,

My mind is fairly happy to conceive

A super-natural intelligence

Who made the treasure-troves we often find.

All life has now a special elegance,

He made the earth in space with us in mind.

A mind behind that magical expanse?

The opposite of accidental chance.

Diameter of Earth is somewhere near

To thirteen thousand kilo-metres wide.

That's forty thousand Ks around this sphere.

So in a normal day what sort of ride

Would Joe enjoy at one Equator spot?

A sixteen hundred Ks an hour twirl.

Coincident to that, the earth will fly from dot

To dot, around Old Sol. Our cosmic pearl

Of blue will do five hundred million Ks

A year. Ballpark, that's sixty thousand Ks

An hour of cosmic thrills. It gives a daze

To Joe of pure adrenalin filled days.

It takes our breath away and gives a chill:

All that excitement just by standing still.

How so, the start of matter, time and space?

And what the spring to make these as they are?

One truth, so inescapable, to face -

A supernatural event by far.

Those Quantum Field Theories make us give up,

Three letter acronyms all leave us cold.

And no! Please, not what's in the cosmic cup,

One hundred-thousandth of a second old.

We want to know what made the cosmic cup.

The Universe and all its energy.

Don't talk of it after it's been wound up,

Explain that supernatural entry.

We know that's just not possible, so why pretend,

With complicated maths and space to bend.

How so, first life, from death, should just appear?

But when you say how so with when and where,

Please don't downplay the life we hold so dear,

And not the line that life may not be rare.

The question asks the origin of life,

Before life's natural selection picks.

Before a chance mutation can cause strife.

That's when the first true replicator ticks.

So does your theory view that time of times,

When some dead chemicals were raised to life?

No mutually exclusive climbs from slimes,

And no high tone where arrogance is rife.

It's scientific arrogance supreme,

To think theirs is the one and only dream.

What means, from single cell to multi-cellular,

If evolution is to do its work?

We speak of systems, inter-cellular-

In living things, each with a different quirk.

But your survival theory rings no bells,

How brains and veins make creatures come alive.

You see a colony of single cells,

Each there, for selfish reasons, to survive.

But next you skip a bottomless abyss -

How cells then change, from self, to work as one.

The opposite of evolution this.

Oh Please! A bet each way and think you've won?

Each living thing, an engineering feat.

Technology impossible to beat.

How so, the number two is popular,

If you think random chance has all the moves?

There's eyes and ears and things so regular,

And that duality with hands and hooves.

Read this to check their strange scenario.

With hands, did right evolve from left? No way!

But evolution theory says it's so -

Two things evolved from one in some past day,

If looks and parts and role are each the same.

Oh please! Remember 'chance' is not a thing.

Two items of exact dimensions came

From some precise intentions, not nothing.

Each two and complimentary pair we see,

Should rot the evolutionary tree.

Christmas tree, Christmas tree,

Why'd you fall on me.

I thought my bucket of rocks

Surrounded by a box

Would hold you in one place,

In that corner space.

But my thinking was all fuzzy,

I was in a hurry

To make you look so good,

Looking as you should

With baubles, red and gold

And decorations, old.

Now I am on my back,

I should have used a tack,

Or two to hold you proud,

To impress the crowd

Who'd visit us tonight,

For a Christmas bite.

While looking through your branches,

It certainly enhances

Your smell, which gently flows

From that twig stuck in my nose.

And I can start to feel the patches

Of a thousand little scratches.

So I'll have another fiddle,

I'll stick you in the middle,

And next time, when you fall,

I'll be down the hall.

Pick someone else to smother

And fall onto another.

Who is that one from sacred prophesy?

Is he the one they call Emmanuel,

The virgin's son born from eternity?

Is he the one whose name is Wonderful,

The Mighty God and Prince of Peace who took

On flesh to mask his blinding radiance?

Is he the central theme of that Good Book,

Whose thoughts hint at a veiled omniscience?

It's easy when there's not need to guess.

No other man can give our souls that lift.

His words and parables say, "Yes, yes, yes!"

The Greatest Gift who gave the greatest gift.

The brilliance of the Son, in flesh hidden;

He is the true God-Man, in unison.

Who is that one who hung upon that tree?

Is he the King of kings and Lord of lords,

The image of Divine identity?

Is he the mighty, strong, arm of the LORD's

Who made his soul an offering for sin?

Is he the Good Shepherd, who knows His sheep,

Who laid His pure life down, our souls to win?

Could that one be, Saviour and Logos too,

The one and only hope for all mankind?

Our Rock, our Light, the source of all that's true,

Who, with His Father, is of one set mind?

His resurrection shouts, "All the above",

The origin and essence of pure love.

He is King David's Lord, wrapped in our skin,

It's a mystery, incomprehensible.

An empty tomb echoes a cosmic win,

It's history, it's indisputable.

The "Son of Man" who'll weaken every knee,

Whose Holy Spirit can now us indwell,

He is the First, and holds eternity,

He is the Last, with keys to death and hell.

Who is that one who stands at your soul's door?

Is He the one whose ways will never change?

With absolute power He wages war

On hate, with love. He'll never force that door.

He stands with patience, ear turned to one side.

He brings a special gift like good friends do.

His voice will warm your heart as you decide

To open wide that door to let Him through.

Don't panic if the cleaning isn't done.

He sees potential past that welcome mat.

You've just invited The Eternal Son,

Who wants to dine with you, how good is that?

So turn your ear and make that move, say, "Yes,

Lord Jesus come, excuse my tardiness."

A walk through sacred pages takes us here:

This scene the garden promise will fulfil,

Where cosmic forces charge the atmosphere

On this official execution hill.

Our walk illuminates this dying one,

Where sin and Love's response are dominant.

Forgiveness and cleansing, in full, will run,

From this eternal volunteer now spent,

In blood and water over spear and nails

Of hate. Dare we ignore this awesome scene

Where Love and justice rule and Satan fails?

Ten thousand no's, for on this one we lean.

The Lord of Glory hung mid earth and sky,

Judgement has struck so to this place we fly.

The present day, for us, is awesome ground.

The height allows a view of hidden space,

With Hubble eyes, to flood and to astound

By power from our cosmic fire place.

The warmth fuels rising wonder to persuade

Our consciousness this one is irresistible.

Our view includes a garden promise made

Out there beyond that tree. Unthinkable

Would be failure. The fireplace attests.

And now, we see the details in the way

His promises were kept. This view now rests

On those two thousand years to present day.

We see how He revealed eternity.

The promise kept, to share one destiny.

So can we look past cruelties and fears,

In circumstances bleak, and no one cares?

And can a light shine into countless years

Of human misery? The Bible bears

The undeniable answer to this:

The Light is on, and we're now in the know.

When He confronted human wickedness,

He looked past cruelty, terror and woe,

To rise, above that scene, to life beyond.

The Bible's winning saga still rings true,

Eternity away from that warm pond,

That light and faithfulness win through.

So sink into the arms that never fail,

He knows, He cares that we are now but frail.

The way to life is love and purity.

This light illuminates all truth and grace,

Has spanned all time into eternity,

And is fulfilled, when loving arms embrace.

He is the Morning Star, life giving Sun.

The ultimate power of everything.

He is the loved, humble, eternal Son,

From whom rivers of living water spring.

The origin of all love stories told

And hopelessly romantic to the core,

He is the one whose actions will uphold

Life's underlying theme, "Love is the law."

Oh contemplate on destiny and choice.

We have alternatives in every voice.

Alas, the human heart is turned away

By that five senses feast, from the true host

Of all we now behold. The light of day

May also motivate this damning boast,

"We are the ones who shape our destiny",

Then cast aside all thought that life is rich

With Heaven's blessings from eternity.

It's certain that these fickle hearts will switch

From this to that when senses overload.

With eyes wide open all the lights go out

To our Creator's care with our abode.

"He guards His honour always", there's no doubt.

With this sure warning, I am on my toes,

Alas, one heart is mine and Heaven knows.

Four evolution gurus are our bet

For humour when it's life's conundrum.

So let's pick on some juicy quotes to let

The fun begin, with insights from each gem.

It's hard to miss these men in our book stores

In this down under land. Yes, John and Paul,

Join Dick and Steve, to plug their sacred cause

With all the passion of a rally call.

Their slant on evolution does exclude

Some mystic grand designer for our world,

So all their juicy quotes will lift our mood

As our true cosmic colours are unfurled.

We'll hone our skills with just a little tease -

We're looking for some foot-in-mouth disease.

While Richard's focused on his spider web,

We catch an insight on his point of view.

Yes, everything is clearer with that web,

That complicated code? It's what minds do.

From this it will be obvious, with gear,

Now operating fully automatically,

Computed codes were set in place, to steer

Our toy, before it ran so magically.

Oh yes, all work is tested and complete before

We turn the cosmic switch and power up.

This juicy quote from Dick highlights hard-core

Denials of the work to start things up.

Some drool will drop near this enticing dish.

It stands, as more self-evident rubbish.

The very best of demolition jobs

On evolution, is organised by Steve.

And here he is, at it again. The sobs

By other evolutionists will leave

Me with a wicked grin. This is "Quote one",

For all creationists who say that two wild dogs

Jumped off the ark, when Noah saw the Sun,

To spread across the earth to give the dogs

We have today. Those two "unspecialized"

Wild dogs were good in every habitat

And every clime. Steve gives a full, king-sized

Put down of these two dogs, suggesting that

It's evolution when our crash-hot dogs

Have bubs who only cope, with one thing well.

In fact, it's devolution dialogs.

His word morphing rings every single bell.

Equivocating word games are, nasty -

It's good it doesn't change reality.

Our evolution mate has lost it here.

Paul writes, "It" must be random to contain

The information for all life. It's clear,

And he admits, the contradictory plain

Sense of these words. Random - specific code?

What utter nonsense flows when all we see

Is matter, time and space. The normal mode

Of thinking on this scientifically,

Is random is just random, without subsets

Of very, very, very special type.

We say that each comment above just wets

Paul's appetite for more publishing hype.

A complex information system rocks,

Inside each living cell, to knock the socks

Off all world views.

So John and Paul identify the flames

To create life. Or so they speculate,

While Dick continues on with his word games:

The random-or-non-random word debate.

Each one has picked an "it" to match the flames

Of life. Gravity, energy or force.

Each is a sledge hammer which gently tames

The eggs of life and these three guys endorse

The delicate finesse these hammers give.

While our trio is feeling fairly proud,

It's our late Steve, who's always positive,

Will say, "These men are mentally endowed.

Each is a true sophisticated mental king,

And their craft is scientific thinking."

The common thread which allies these four men

Is their attempt to tackle origins,

Without an uncaused cause to help them when

They think things through. Shenanigans

Will rule as they come up with something if

There's nothing at the start. They're in the wars

As they work hard and we can catch a whiff

Of what they're shovelling. Johnny ignores

The "Birth" mother and zones in on the child

And Dick ignores the programmer sublime,

While Paul and Steve are tongue-tied with their wild

Attempts at redefining words each time.

So, it's all happening, in origins -

No drama then, in worrying who wins.

They tell us, "Many species came from one,

And yes, that's evolution doing that."

The champion of the cause (above) bar none,

Reminds us now, and tells us where he's at.

This quote gives us the insight into how

The evolutionists equivocate.

So, we can guide, dog evolution now?

That shows the nonsense they can generate.

At least two meanings used, will intertwine.

The trivia to tell us evolution's true,

And then the speculated blind design.

When knowing what, a programmer can do?

They'll trot both out, depending on their needs:

The trivia and then the wider creeds?

How can he write that, is a mystery,

And still retain his credibility.

The dogs are dogs, that's how it's always been,

From fluffy balls, today, to downright mean.

It's just variety, that's all it is.

You tell us, Steve, that we are glorious,

Blind accidents of unpredictable

Nature, without the drive for genius.

Your task? To rid us of habitual

Anthropocentric eyes to catch a glimpse

Of all the grandeur there. But there's no rise,

You say, from tiny bugs to new age chimps.

This prompts our non-anthropocentric eyes,

To tag our age: "Age of Bacteria".

Bacteria have been, and will remain,

The dominant lifeform, nothing is hardier,

With humans, an anomalous side strain.

Attempts at redefining glorious,

And what's grandeur, is just inglorious.

No grandeur lies in your belittlement.

No hope spreads only discontent.

Dick spins the evolution paradigms.

It seems, he writes, each different type of eye

Had independently evolved some fifty times,

By mechanisms, still unknown? Aye-aye!

We wonder if his spin is really true,

That scientists have fifty lines, which tell

How evolution worked as each eye grew.

The eye is the most complicated gel

Like substance other than the brain. It rings

The bells for sure. All skeptics' eyes will roll

When their convergent evolution springs

Into debates on windows to the soul.

Wow! Fifty recipes from zip, somehow.

How come the penny hasn't dropped by now?

You tell us with some pride George Washington

And Charles Darwin, both share the same birthday.

But no, we don't discuss what George has done

Or said, on their two hundredth year birthday.

Well no! Hello! Our George has never said,

"There is no God, Noah did not go on that trip,

The Bible's wrong, and Adam never lead

Our human family, so get a grip."

Like rich and poor, this line is always there.

We join the queue to obvious stupidity,

For not believing Charlie's right, but share

A monkey's uncle with humanity.

Debate will rage, we feel that we know why.

The evolution myth's a porky pie.

Two men went to the temple to pray,

The first one prayed without delay,

"Lord, I'm so thankful I'm not this bloke,

He's all strung out, as if to croak.

He should get his act together,

Although he doesn't look that clever.

I'm OK, no sinful passions,

And I give all of those donations."

The other gave himself a miss,

But when this man had prayed like this,

"God, show mercy to this sinner,"

Jesus said, "This man's a winner."

Two other men hung at His side,

The day my Lord was crucified,

Each of these had their opinion,

Of my Saviour's crucifixion.

One of the men began to jeer,

"Come on you, get us down from here."

The other said, "We've earned this fate,

Lord, think of me, when at death's gate."

This man heard words of surety,

"Yes, after death, you'll be with me."

This man has also died a winner.

Yes, both our men, a willing sinner.

These two different situations,

Give some sober revelations.

God shows us mercy in one way -

No mercy, to Jesus, on that day.

So if you're knocking at death's door,

Or your soul says, "There must be more."

Oh take some tips from our two winners,

And admit that all are sinners.

When our man prayed for mercy, mate,

He used the word 'propitiate'.

He knew his sin, from God, divided,

But a Saviour is provided.

A Saviour is provided,

Only because Jesus died.

Our other man showed, what to do,

And who to trust, to take us through,

He just said, "Lord I'm in your care,

Remember me when you get there."

This condemned man knew, as he died,

He had the right man by his side.

With not one thing that he could do,

He gratefully sighed, "Lord, thank you."

There's nothing to do,

But, "Thank you," today.

Don't put this off till "someday soon",

Maybe when you pick up that,, fork.

Think! Before many more dinners,

Sinners, now winners, are grinners.

Two thousand years before twenty-o-nine,

He walked us one of us, thirteen years old.

Each step moves in humanity's timeline,

And each confirms the Keeper of the fold.

He is the King of kings and Lord of lords.

The Master of the Universe, this boy,

Wrapped in our skin to taste what life affords

And implement an awesome cosmic ploy.

He always takes the very narrow way

To open up, for us, the pastures green.

He'll lay his body on the line one day,

But in that year His goal will be,, fourteen.

So now, it's a two thousand year timeline,

From Calvary, to twenty, twenty-nine.

Love to see it.

Imagination

Ingenuity

Intelligence