At Lazarus’s Tomb: An Easter poem

He wept, the man who I had learned to trust,
And spoke: ‘he who believes will never die.’
My brother, who for four days dead did lie,
Rose, stripped, and lived again. This we discussed
Endlessly – how could we not? The years went by
He married, prospered, then, as all men must
Grew old. Stooped. Sickened. Returned to dust.
And now once more we watch his tomb and cry.

‘The resurrection and the life’ he said,
But I await the last of days again.
‘Though die, will live’ – strange words he spoke, and hard;
What has he changed, who on the cross once bled?
He rose. And rose. Made gates of death, through pain,
A door held open by the hands still scarred.

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