Your Incarnation

A stirring storm of lightning like lava caused commotion. Among seraphims and cherubims… clouded confusion. The father asked, when all prophets failed, 'who, now, would I send?' Celestials, like souls of ghosts, stood benumbed at your consent. Didn't the chorus of 'Holy' give you endless pleasure? Did the heavens strain you so that you sought earthly leisure? The galaxies and constellations stood in sombre surprise. Who could stop you when visions of salvation filled your eyes? Didn't you know a cross-shaped piece of wood would be your bed? Your flesh would be torn. Bones would be broken. Blood would be shed. Stretching your nailed hands and your damaged legs, you would stand dead. Wasn't it with no knowledge of grief that you went ahead? The heavens descended on the earth at your incarnation. Times, O Christ, ticked your timelessly timed perpetuation.