X... A SON

He may emerge from the chemistry of love,
One heart formed by the fusing of two.
A magical potion fermented in the cauldron of the womb,
A splattering of biological ingredients animated through a spiritual
catalyst.
Or he may emerge as the harvest of lust.
One heart not from fusion - but confusion
No magical potion.
Just a notion.
However,
No matter how he dawns,
Be it like the suns of a thousand morns
Or shrouded under clouds of shame
Lay no blame.
Who can argue with miracles?