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.