From Florence shall come a man,
when the world becomes immaculate;
two women shall hold their child.

The firstborn Son of The Father,
the brother of The Son of Man.

Those who have lived,
shall peer into his eyes;
who walks from East to West,
who walks from North to South.

Those who have known his name,
have seen his mother's mark;
knowing then her secret name.

The coy fellow of his imagination,
has dried up the desert's water;
and cast the flame of her doubts,
into the mire of her disrepair.

Who knew the lion was an ostrich,
whose egg was eaten up by serpents;
who howled against My wife,
and cast their dice in a gamble.

Was she truly an insane woman,
or perhaps a prophetess I sent;
or something greater yet.

I make no such claim,
but she has all the cards;
to go forever into fortune,
casting forth the word,
into the midst of many dragons.

©2025 Lucretia Meerim Chosen One