Life sacrificed before the breath is made or could be heard,
an offering to angels and to futures never known,
where what the fates have given cannot be held and shown;
silence writes in memory and dreams, there are no words.
This moment of imagining, material made manifest in form,
as gift bequeathed to woman, creation then has claimed
and brought itself to being, this soul who won’t be named;
so does the cycle turn, begin and end, with nothing born.
Yet, in that instant of conception, that pure connection,
is something brought to birth in worlds beyond this one,
soul surely seeded into flesh and mind, and so begun;
in ways we cannot understand, a hidden, lost perfection?
There are things beyond this earth and universe, this place,
there are truths far deeper than we can ever see,
meaning, purpose, reason that will always stand and be;
cosmos writes its story through us, revealing endless grace.