Be gone cobwebs,
dust, don’t gather.
Air, don’t still
and stones don’t settle.
All that creeps and steals,
skulks, sneaks and slithers,
retreat!
There is life here, reignited,
burning, heat and light.
No word can be said,
but the stone still cries out,
and retreats in holy fear.
Air rushes in terror to escape,
but is inhaled again,
in, out, in, out.
A leaden chest rises, and falls;
black blood melts red and circulates.
An eye is opened, a muscle twitches;
a word is about to be said.
Creation, three days in revolution,
waits in cold dread for its hearing…
But receives only forgiveness as
the sun rises.
Technorati: Resurrection | Reflection | Easter
