A dove descends,
Wings flapping, each beat discernable,
Like an annunciation.
The idea, an immaculate conception,
Untainted, pure and blessed,
A secular epiphany raised to deity,
And behold,
The nativity of verse.
Heavy,
In the midst of countless skulls;
No eyes, lips or ears.
I am the father
Trusting I will die before my child,
Believing it will outlive me
To shade the world.