The man-child Herod, 22 months into his reign,
Points a chubby finger,
Says, ‘He is a bad person’, and has him put to death.
His hands are clean, washed and washed again in a gilded porcelain basin,
His hands are clean; his mind washes in blood.
The man-child, 22 months into his reign,
Is full of fear.
The boy-child, 22 months into his reign,
Smiles,
Says, Mama, and Baba, toddles in his swaddling clothes,
his world overflows with love,
His hands are in the dirt, close by the people of earth,
His hands cultivate a garden of love; his mind washes in love.
The boy-child delights in his world.
The man-child, 22 months into his reign,
Prophesies that a boy-child will take his throne away,
Pouts his fleshy lip, points,
Says, ‘All boys under two are bad persons,’
And has them put to death.
The monstrosity…
Howling in the streets.
Mothers wail. Countries grieve.
Squares fill with flowers.
Torrents of tears through channels of love.
Wise men avoid the border guards. They do not show their visas.
They run.
Smugglers: love is their contraband.
Wise men show whose reign is true.
The man-child, 24 months into his reign,
Fears. Still fears. Herod’s own kidneys turn on him.
Gangrene eats his private parts.
He dies in pain.
The boy-child on the cross.
Hands and feet pierced. Head bloodied. A halo of red.
His breathing stops. He exults, ‘It is finished.’
He is returning to his Baba.
His realm is love. the cross its crown.
– Ted Witham 2026
Mind Journeys 