Jun 2018
In this ancient hotel,
one of the children
led them all to hell.
With love, we fled,
but still with us
he was tightly bound.
Through the blizzard
we drove to escape,
but still with us, he was.
Our sight was infected
by an evil of ours
we could not accept.
Till buried in snow,
breath from us gone,
as the poor thing.
But no, not gone.
Never will leave.
Where now to turn?
For love to melt
our new prison,
we must die.
And what we were
must be forgotten,
to become something even greater.
No, not forgotten,
but a lesson remembered
and passed on.
That pitiful child,
how despicable he was,
how cruel and malign.
If he could melt the ice,
if he could right the wrong,
would be the greatest miracle of all.
one of the children
led them all to hell.
With love, we fled,
but still with us
he was tightly bound.
Through the blizzard
we drove to escape,
but still with us, he was.
Our sight was infected
by an evil of ours
we could not accept.
Till buried in snow,
breath from us gone,
as the poor thing.
But no, not gone.
Never will leave.
Where now to turn?
For love to melt
our new prison,
we must die.
And what we were
must be forgotten,
to become something even greater.
No, not forgotten,
but a lesson remembered
and passed on.
That pitiful child,
how despicable he was,
how cruel and malign.
If he could melt the ice,
if he could right the wrong,
would be the greatest miracle of all.
Immediately after posting "Embrace", my wife was struck with a nightmare. They are rare for her, and it seemed to deliver a message of an evil child who was bound in our car, with which we drove through a blizzard. A disembodied voice whispered, "He's already *******." Whether true or all in my head, it seemed to directly respond to my own thoughts and the poem I'd written.
After pondering this situation, I quickly wrote "The Greatest Miracle", and this is closely tied to the previous poem. I didn't revise this poem at all, preferring to leave it in this raw form from some kind of inspiration. Life is certainly mysterious, and love is powerful. Could it be true?
After pondering this situation, I quickly wrote "The Greatest Miracle", and this is closely tied to the previous poem. I didn't revise this poem at all, preferring to leave it in this raw form from some kind of inspiration. Life is certainly mysterious, and love is powerful. Could it be true?
