A Testament to the Hours

A Testament to the Hours

The tension in your womb bares no certain words;

only the voiceless sense of hidden hands

plaiting the future deep within.

 

You feel the formation of a sovereign seed––

a lily-of-the-valley destined to rise

in this wilderness of humanity.

 

Yet within your joy at the fruit of your loins,

you behold Isaiah’s prophecy

of that sacred flower shredded by the hour.

 

Right then you consider abandoning the seed

in a savage ecstasy of shock and grief

but persevere despite sin’s heinous pleas.

 

As conception’s reckoning prods and fades,

you foresee a lost lily recovered in the temple,

telling you with reverent irony:

“Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”

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