Wednesday, 24 December 2014


In the moments that pass
 it’s easy to forget that each and every second that slips into history found its trajectory in the beginning,
formed and foreseen on a grand scale,
such complexity is beyond the imaginings of everyday moments,
so far beyond comprehension and more immaculately formed than history could ever reason,
stars scratching pockets of light into night’s grey shadow,
fresh rains filled with static scent,
bird song heard at every moment
and from every destination more music spills out of creation,
life blood from open wounds,
in such moments eternity calls out in perpetual clang and clamour,
life upon life upon life and there is no letting go,
too far beyond imagination,
too heady to comprehend,
and through these moments each hour meets with love
and hopes dashed,
grief and birth,
death’s song stalks the same hospital wards as birth’s angelic cry,
this story erupts into the ether,
punctuating the mundane with the extremes of every form,
and into this day
 screams beckon forth
bloodied life,
formed in eternity,
ageless truth enacted,
personified with purpose,
to this diet of life and death the son comes,
fully formed of human flesh,
to be cursed and to be beckoned into life’s every complexity,
this life born of the same blood and filth of life
into the hovel of the homeless
speaks without words and without actions,
very presence of the presence in the present happenings of that time,
immanence and transcendence tested to breaking,
beyond quick words and carefully formed phrase,
the creator
bearing hope and hurt and nursing at the breast,
limitless potential
formed of fragile clay
born of pain,
born into pain,
born of dust
and destined never to return to dust,
in the everyday hours of memories forgotten to history,
this form will find resolve in a different destiny,
light overcoming dark,
forgiveness framing fear,
solemn is humanity’s cry,
pitiful and plaintive,
burdened and beaten,
world wearied and worried
by rumours spoken on TV screens,
swiped from left to right on tablet touch screens,
telling tales of worry and truth’s terror,
this is the moment and this shall be the sign,
into this broken truth,
this brutal reality,
less than static yet unchanging,
into this
a birth beckons forth a new dawning
and a new opportunity,
a new understanding and a glimmer of hope,
the baby born to tension and threat,
born to bring release,
freedom and sight,
born to bring the disinherited home
and they are home,
in his arms,
engulfed by his perpetual embrace,
for the son born as baby lives beyond limits
and dies beyond imagination,
flesh and bone,
words and spit,
nails and loss,
rust and cost,
to this future he submits himself,
born in a stable,
laid in a trough,
born with blood and gritted groans,
clenched teeth and no home
but in a mother’s young arms and a father’s fervent gaze,
every breath-filled moment,
building on the last,
the kingdom comes,
built on rooted rocks and whispered dreams,
cradled in a manger,
the cornerstone soon to be discarded,
eternity’s song,
intimate and infinite,
nothing more and nothing less.

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