Unfurled wings of a tiny newborn.
He means to feel the warmth,
To drench his mind in her vision,
A mother’s blessing upon the soon to be
Hailed as King.
Soon to be
The stifling of a world’s silence.
Can Heaven sing any louder?
A tapestry unfolded,
A Bible ruined,
A journey so sublime
Up to the altar
Where folded arms are for unfolded hearts.
His torn flesh
As wounds like ripped paper,
Carves a prophecy from his mouth.
Leaves hold the sky upright,
As they fall.
Light shines to the noon
After the anxious morning.
Can the world grow hungrier?
Can we all bleed our depression
From somewhere deeper?
We raise our eyes with a curious gaze,
A defeated bow
To a kingdom where horses pull memories.
Like a teardrop lifting upwards,
Pulled by the moon,
There are stains as the stars,
As the purity upon the bleak shell
Of an empty universe.