epiphany had never felt so glorious
the immaculate conception
born for a reason
I gazed upon the god like child
he had his mothers eyes
 

softly it breathed
with golden halo
like a michaelangelo
Sistine ceiling where
god reaches to touch his hand
 

mused by gods, undefined
within her mind
the shuffled postcards
of her random thoughts
had created its wonderfulness
 

left behind would be the ones
that dared to label him bastard
for everything taboo
was always still holy
and innocence could not be denied
 

there was never a script
preplanned or rehearsed
never destroyed by human definition
wide wide open isn't written in stone
because in  foolish we become wise