poised on the brink of two worlds:
One, land of eternal day,
the other, earth of mire and clay.
legions of heavenly host,
bright faces covered, praising,
all chanting, voices raising.
chaos yawning, swift and deep,
known, yet unknown. Fear unfurling,
death and darkness churning, swirling.
One last look at golden glory.
The Three part; He is now One.
The Father’s voice says, “Go well, my Son.”
into the abyss.
His next memory will be a Mother’s kiss.
~ Denise Day Spencer, January 1999