The Birth

Remember when it was still yesterday,
So young and yet pale as the tender moon that night;
I still remember how began that day,
But how should it end so soon?

His children gather behind their father,
Listening with open ears to endless stories,
While his voice speaks as a night should stir,
His fear is all but what the world must believe.

I can hear footsteps walking lost without their heels,
Climbing softly to a sky though the ladder will not go down;
Awaiting the faint horizon on comforting knees,
Long have we waited for a king to crown.

As a child be born to its tear stained mother,
The blood of its birth spilt upon the eyes that gaze,
From the ocean will he wash his body,
And burn the darkness of man for all his days.