Love Made Flesh in My Hand
There is no gift as precious as the birth of your child
If you have never watched the birth of a baby you have missed the eight wonder of the world
Love made flesh in my hands.
Breathless I was at your Cesarean entrance, amidst bloody bandages, and flesh spread into a portal, tiny head bent, and bloody, fists clenched as you emerged, to cry out at the world's embrace. Dumbstruck I grew when they, brought you to me all fresh and clean, and wrapped in soft cloth. What gift of God is this, perfection granted, but once in my life, love made flesh in my hands, blue eyes wide with wonder, gazing deeper into mine, then even my own retrospections. 6 pounds of precious this wingless angel my son, my sun, who I will orbit around until I fall meteor like into the depths of the
Where one day he will stand breathless, amidst my octogenarian exit, if fate allows, among blood red roses and flesh spread into a portal that grants entrance to eternal rest weary head bent, and wrinkled fists unclenched, and hands crossed as my soul cries out, at this world's denial, of my son, my sun. Dumbstruck and cold, prepared and wrapped, in a satin lined box, all fresh and clean. What a gift of God was this, my Life, and him, perfection sustained, and blessing me so much more, then once in my many days, love made flesh in my hands. Blue eyes wide with tears now gazing deeply with fond reflections as they lower me into the womb of Mother earth where 166 pounds of flesh are exchanged for an angel with wings bearing my soul beyond my son, my sun, with fond farewells and the knowledge we will meet again when he is reborn to me in a heavenly embrace
© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III