The Unborn
The unborn are even now
part of our story.
Once a fictional baby
was held in the arms
of a tale,
a recreation recreated upon every instant
of an on-going biography -
one experienced through
Gods clear looking glass.
Soon that unborn child
thought itself to be a being,
it thought itself to be a person,
a character
separate from all other beings.
However its true nature
(being unlimited)
was hidden from it
by the very fictional unreality
it thought to be its own story.
One day or night;
a day or night set in a singular iota of time
it put, as you would a book,
its story down
then it was that all the biographies
that had ever been
became just windblown dust
before that face of a perfect looking glass.
There in a placeless place,
the Unborn Creator watches
forever unchanging
far and beyond any fanciful tales
told by a child to its parent.
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