by Pavel Chichikov
When the Spirit rose in dove-like form
To find and hover over Mary's womb
There was a raptor, hunter overhead
Broad wings and metal beak, pumping heart of lead
Interposed between the dove and light:
'I will eclipse and misconceive Your flight
And You will enter into my own chick
The false Messiah, violent heretic'
And if the Spirit had so turned aside
There would have been an anti-Christ of pride,
Not Sacrifice but bloody sacrificer
Not peace-maker but murderer's advisor
In sanctuary we would be devoured
And every holy martyr be called coward,
But He was safe within a virgin womb
And rose from it as He rose from the tomb
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may also visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.)
