Carried across millenia

Astrologer and crucifier

Who both believed to have spoken

With the Tetragrammaton

But God had not appeased their prayers

Just my word, my questioning

Course would eventually correct

And violate intonation

Centuries would wax and wane

Paths worn across the continents

The scimitar of life will always swing

Would fluctuate and atrophy

A child is born the progeny

Beneath glint of lunar cities

Can it be chance that she now lives

Did my questions bear consequence?