#4: Begotten Not Made (An Advent Poem)
 
I'm continuing my Advent poetry series. Today's is an oldie (a rehash you could find with some hardcore internet scouring). It was inspired by the notion of the Creator stepping into creation.

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Begotten Not Made

And though he birthed the star alight,
he took to manger underneath
the humbled cry of stifled speech,
of own begotten form.

He suckled there at woman’s breast,
the mouth of God on human skin
he spoke before the world began,
to birth begotten form.

Confined to flesh and swaddled limbs
restrained his own eternal power;
the starry hosts in witching hour
announced begotten form.

And when the kobalt sky was new,
with blushing east and rising love,
creation ceased its groaning song
and held begotten form.


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