Masters

Three lifetimes devoted to astrological lore. Why?
For what far-off famine gather these stores of wisdom,
for what great battle shape and sharpen these swords?
No miserly hoards of mental treasure here,
no galleries to put the mind's fine art on proud display;
for these old masters of science are servants of truth,
and when the celestial logic compels, they leave their fields;
their science revealed as guide, not goal, the Magi yield:
submit to the greater Master and follow the star.

Herod, that dangerous madman, fears for his kingdom.
Master of men, and slave to his mastery, bound to fail,
what can he do? Palace-imprisoned, throne-thrall Herod rages,
but his inept and futile, blind and brutal savagery misses its mark,
and thousands of innocent voices scream in stark
and tragic terror. Thousands of voices scream and die.

Their lives of learning now complete the Magi come
to the frightened mother, the tiny child. What mastery his?
His thirty years' reprieve brief time to recreate humanity.
Where will he go? What do? His fresh-formed fist the Magi know,
clenched and raised from the tiny threshing body, is
the hand of God poised to rewrite the world.