As blood turned to dust and fed the soil.

They watered its white petals with reddest blood,

And partied, drank, danced, and ate, with modern legend, well past midnight,

The flower of good success,

Its petals absorbed the blood, not their own,

And bloomed with such beauty,

Cannot be forgotten or unseen.

With words, which shimmering pictures made,

Smiles, champagne, limousines,

And flowers in flowing manes,

And they threw blood upon the flower,

An oblation to its infusion of beauty.

And unreality, they made, any fantasy enforced, And blood gathered from the believers of their very pretty lies,

The goodly gospel of good good good success.

And it delighted the eyes, the stomach, and the smiles.

And to its haunting melodies, we danced until sunrise,

But I could not deny the colour of grass or sky,

Or pretend clear skies were grey, and grey skies blue,

Or that the sun was but the moon.

And it flowered and bloomed,

And folk songs followed the flower,

And sought its wisdom and counsel,

And showered it in beautiful words and hopes,

And showered it in human blood.

Panglosses cheered and smiled, and danced,

And smoke like a machine consumed the scene,

And flames, like Roman candles did celebrate,

And around the flower, they danced,

And unlike the ancient living candles of Rome,

They did not go to a better place,

But their blood sparkled upon the petals,

And there they worshiped and rejoiced in the beauty,

Of the flowering flower, the flower of good success.

And as their many sacrifices, ordinary fools but armed with glitter and mascara, mirrors, and pyres of smoke, sparklers in their hands,

Flowers in their flowing long curls,

They danced into the flames, and smoke, and sacrificial beautifully spinning blades they themselves erected,

And their blood, too, hit the beautiful white flower,

Ingratitude their position of every bit of pride,

The flower of good success, full to excess,

But to me, it seems they never had lasting hope or real success.

Their blood spattered upon its petals,

And as the sun rose, it faded, and died, as all flowers eventually do,

And I watched from my spot a distance away,

As blood turned to dust and fed the soil.

Poem by Marc Evan Aupiais

Mary as the Mother of God

Catholics believe that Jesus has two natures, human and divine, but is one person, The Son, the second person of the Holy Trinity, of God.

The Son is God. God knew every human being before time began, as he planned us in his mind. Mary was always Jesus' mother in God's plans, as Jesus is God, she is the mother of God and that is their relationship in God's mind from the moment he conceived of Mary before time began. 

If Mary were God's creator she and not he would be god, but we call her Mother of God, which means we admit God not Mary is God.

The title admits information primarily about God, that Jesus is God and that he is fully human, fully God, but inseparably one person.

Either Jesus is God or not. If he is, Mary is the mother of God. But note, we do not say Mary is God, because she is not the origin of God, only the origin of everything can be God, the mere mention of God in that title means Mary is separate from God and is a created being, one who gave birth to God as a human being when he came down to Earth to save us.