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…for it sees you…
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Hark!
Hark!
Proof of miracles!
Of it shall be asked, of it shall be seen!
Proof of the Lord’s miracles handed down from the mighty heavens into the earthly palms of the Son!
image [https://i.imgur.com/nUz47Od.jpeg]
Father is pleased.
Mother is afraid.
The Son feels only the water.
“Look! Do we all not see?” The Father places his hands upon the Son’s shoulders. “The water becomes wine! The wine becomes water!” The Father is pleased. “The elements are of no consequence! Of no laws!” The Father will bellow.
The Mother may ask, “Do we all not see what’s in the water?” The fearful, skeptical Mother may wish to place a hand somewhere upon the Son’s body, which is not occupied by the Father. “Do we all not see what’s in the wine?”
The Father dismisses this Mother’s touch, as he may dismiss the Mother as woman in man’s household, for only a Father may cleave unto his Son. “It is not by his hand that the water, the wine, was unclean!”
“UNCLEAN!?!?” A Mother who knows not her place raises her lungs to her voice. “THAT IS NO MERE FILTH!!! WHAT OUR DAUGHTER FONDLES IN THE WATER…IT’S…IT’S DISGUSTING!!!”
“...unclean…” The Son may place his wet fingers to his lips. “...disgusting…” To his tongue. “...unclean…disgusting…” To his breast. The words are a riptide. The thoughts are a whirlpool. “Father?” The Son may cry with the same waters he manipulates with miracles. “FATHER!?!?” The Son may cleave anywhere unto his skin that the Father wishes to cleave unto. The Son screams, the Son cries, the Son screams, the Son cries, the heat of the Son is unbearable, the heat of the Son is nauseating. “IT HURTS!!! IT BLEEDS!!! IT HURTS!!! IT BLEEDS!!!”
A wise Father knows to strike down and silence forever the Mother.
A wise Mother knows to lay upon that floor.
“Heed not the ramblings of what your Mother can’t possibly understand. Miracles are what they are, to be in the Lord’s image, nothing less, just as you are in the Lord’s image, just as we are not fit to judge the Lord’s image.” The Father may hold the Son’s gentle hands with compassion. “If the Lord’s image is to be feared, let you be feared for his awesome power. If the Lord’s image is to be loved, let you be loved for his unconditional benevolence.”
“...fear…love..” The Son wishes to be embraced, and so it shall be granted by the Father. But the Son can’t help but gaze upon the life in the waters and wine. “...power…benevolence…” The Son is faint. “Father, make me feel beautiful again…”
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The Father carries the Son away with warm, hearty laughter. “As I’ve said many times before, lad, the Lord’s beauty is ever-lasting and ever-present, just as with you.”
A Son’s cheeks knows to turn red like roses every time the Father knows to provide words of comfort and wisdom.
The struck-down Mother knows what comes after and attempts to rise.
The struck-down Mother attempts to intervene, but before rising soon enough in protest, she is locked in here by the Father’s key.
The struck-down Mother must be locked away from Father and Son.
The struck-down Mother can only “attempt,” for she must always fail and fall with her sacrilege outbursts.
image [https://i.imgur.com/tiDoPP2.jpeg]
The Son sleeps where the Mother once lay.
Every night, deeply with the Father.
Every morn, cleaved unto by the Father.
The Mother is not fit to lay with the Father as the Son replaced her humble privilege with his just reward.
The Mother may allow tears to fall from her eyes…
…with each tear that falls, a day rises over it…
…many tears fell…many more days rose…
New tears, new days, are stage for the show of miracle.
And let it be sung, hand in hand, that every verse of miracle rhymes another chorus of followers with its harmony of grasp.
Enough followers, enough verses, enough choruses, enough bridges, oh do come the celebration, oh do come the coronation.
Dancing. Applause. Dancing. Applause.
“Hark! The Son has risen!”
Masks
“Hark! The Son has risen!”
to hide faces.
“HARK! HARK! THE SON HAS RISEN! THE SON HAS RISEN!”
Masks to hide faces.
image [https://i.imgur.com/WI26Kla.png]
“GLORY BE AND THANKS BE! MIRACLES! GLORY BE FOR THY RISING SON! MIRACLES! THANKS BE FOR THY SON RISING! MIRACLES!”
The Son’s followers danced round the Son as the planets cycle infinitum, for they were merry and many.
Many a merry man wished and begged to cleave unto the Son, but such a grace to ever be granted was forbidden, as only the Father may cleave unto the Son.
The many merry men must dance away the sweat, dance away the lust for the Son, for they may not have it.
Only love, in all thought and all display for the Son, is permitted. Shall this commandment be commited to memory of all.
As each planet orbits and draws towards the Son, the Son rises from Boy to Man, and Man’s miracles shall soon be for the eyes of all instead of solely for the eyes of the First Believers in their merry dancing of masked shadow.
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SEAL THY FATE
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