Monkeys come from Monkeys
Monkeys come from monkeys,
I answered the request,
It’s been this way since life began, I told my honored guest
And people come from people,
A mommy and a dad,
From these come another human, a little girl or lad.
These are the laws of nature;
Each produces its own kind,
With fences built around the species, no exceptions come to mind.
The engineer who designed each creature
With such love and care,
Placed infinite detail in each feature, all uniquely rare.
Voluminous information is in one cell,
Miniaturized and compact,
Details greater than math can tell, fixed in an unseen contract.
The DNA, the proteins complex,
Myriad parts, the pulse of life,
Nutritious feeding, the role of sex, between these necessities place no knife.
Add circulation, aeration, and elimination,
With quality control production,
At rates to one thousand times a second, division and multiplication.
All these and more must be in place
For life ever to be beckoned.
This demands an architect, a genius, a producer, it can be reckoned.
If Darwin could squint through an electronic lens,
If he knew what we know now,
His book on origins would 180 turn, to observable facts he would bow.
Did life begin in a dirty pond,
Struck by lightning, a coincidental event?
My friend, you know the truth: the odds eliminate such an accident.
Did the species evolve upward,
By mutation and by chance,
Each yielding on Darwin’s tree some elegant new branch?
From amoeba to tadpole,
From fish to walking on land,
From creeping thing to flying, from monkey’s grasp to hand?
Mutations are destructive;
It is always so you see.
That is why from Russia’s Chernobyl, all residents did flee.
Neither human observation,
Nor the strata of the rock,
Give a glimpse of one mutation raising the standard of life’s stock.
Where are the missing links, I ask,
Not one but the millions required,
To verify Darwin’s theory and by scholars to be admired?
Transitional forms don’t exist, dear scholar,
Because life didn’t happen that way.
It time to be honest with ourselves, and let truth rule the day.
Intelligent designer, artist supreme,
Who for a canvass employs a butterfly’s wing,
Lover of beauty and originality diverse, what shall we call you, if such a request I may bring?
My child, a kind voice answered,
With a hint of mystery and mirth,
Look in the book that opens, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”
J. Daniel Lupton