From one nestled in the womb,
Shut off from world,
Yet protected from its conformities,
Reality had yet to be conceived.
The womb exceeds its volume.
A cunning figure
Who unbears a name is given freedom.
Neglected by its asylum,
The scar of unrest widens,
But is healed by forgiveness.
Its form in time takes heed
Of the stem of life that aims for the sky
But its unwritten story is buried below.
In aw of such fruits
That bears the face of a successor,
One that is not in fear of the
Lot that debar the unborn.
He’s engraved with the impossible,
But was derived from an unknown source.
Walking down this road
A view of a landless
And yet lifeless world
Has been destructed by hate.
But a gate stood open.
Thy creation attempts to amend thy unfulfilled promises.
There stands mankind.