no one's past should
define who they are today,

unless their present
is merely an extension
of the supposedly
dead and buried.

Scored to a throne
On apex exalted
The bull flares its steel heat
To my clefted rib

Its twist swift on its steer
Cures its kind to nerve ascending
L'etric red ushers its drench oer my clay swelt
Naked on the bone

Its death
My dawn

There is an imprint of a frog on my back
From a poem by Mary Oliver.
It is sticky sweat oozing down my spine,
Leaking into the small of my back
Screaming, "You do not have to be good."
My own skin whispers back,
"But don't I?" and sears the grime.
I don't know what to do with my own badness.
Punishment for my "sins" seems necessary,
But so does radical acceptance.
All I can do is close my eyes,
Hoping for a better tomorrow where
My brain requires less dopamine
And more compassion.
Slowly I will rise from the grave I dig once a night.
I will claw my way out by my fingers
And into the light.
Shame that no one will be near
To see the resurrection.

A brown leaf ripens in the Son
A decision made for everyone
On a hill marked with blood
and watched with a Father's eyes

A blind man sees walking trees
and the covenant crown lies at His feet
I will rise in Him
while the willow whispers
strengths untold
and the honey flows
in lands of old
I will rise in Him

Silver streams ran down her face
but behold amazing grace
A few more days
A little longer we wait
till we will rise in Him

A golden goblet is stained
and she thirsts as the deer
she climbs up like a bear
and is watched with a Father's eyes
Until we rise in Him.

Lily Bajo

It all started with my sins
Including that of my kin's
Living life of corruption kings
But he paid the price

He live with no fault
But my lies left him with deep cuts
He prayed nonstop
But for my shame,
He came down from the top
Just to pay the price.

Knowing I am a sinner
He still chose to make me a winner
We wine and dine
But it was him who came to die
Because that was the price

For my lies
For my shame
For my idolatry
For my ill thoughts
His death was the price

I have lost a friend
But he said to me
"It is not my end
I have paid the price".

"For your redemption
For your salvation
For your eternity if you chose me
I have paid it all".

So I was given a new name
And now I live in his fame
Enjoying all of his gain
Because he has paid the price
For all of my sins.
He paid it all
And I am free.

S. O sther.

The King and the prince went up to the city,
the King to make peace and the prince to get tricky.
One lived to love and one loved to hate,
one gave his life and one took the bait.

The King and the prince went up to the city,
one stood condemned, one died not guilty.
One spoke the truth and one shouted lies
one knew the plan, one got a surprise.

The King and the prince went up to the city,
one filled with tears and one with no pity.
The prince had his Friday, ‘thought that was the finish.
The King rose on Sunday, his rule undiminished.

Chest heaving, eyes weeping,
The tomb blurs before my eyes.
How is everyone else still sleeping
When my Savior doesn’t arise?

Oh, how the doubt roars within me,
His words now seem to me as His rotting flesh,
“I will rise on day three,”
But his body is now stolen, unless…

Dirt clenching onto my dress,
I fling the tears from my eyes,
Trying to decide if… Yes!
There are people by his graveside.

Angels they must be, all in white,
And before I can confirm their existence, they speak:
“Woman, why are you weeping at this sight?”
My anger flares as I try to control my speech.

“Because my Lord has been taken away,
And I don’t know where his body is.”
I attempt to keep my temper at bay,
Turning away to abate my boiling fears.

Then I see the gardener, and a flash of brilliance
Or desperation rises in me, which one I don’t know,
But as I open my mouth to ask about my Lord’s disappearance,
He speaks: “Why are you weeping woman, why such sorrow?”

Again the same question, yet I cannot form
An adequate response; how can one describe
The loss of Him who can calm the storm,
But now has left my world in turmoil at his sacrifice?

My anger reaches the heavens now,
And in irritation I retort, “If you have taken Him away,
Tell me where He is, and I will take him from thou.”
Chest heaving, eyes weeping, I glance away.

But then I hear my name, soft and sweet but firm,
Two syllables, a clear “Mary!”
And I turn
And my unbridled joy at seeing him turns into “Rabboni!”

I ponder for a second what it’s like to feel
Sadness, for in that split second, it’s gone,
It’s been replaced by rejoicing and zeal,
And I resist the urge to leap with the dawn.

How could I have ever doubted?
Of course His words are true,
It’s a reality that must be shouted,
Yet all I can do is stare at him now that he’s in my view.

“Do not cling to me,” he says earnestly
“For I still must ascend to my Father,
And please tell our friends this, for certainly
I ascend to My God and your God, My Father and your Father.”

It was good he said this, for I had forgotten
In my excitement to see my Savior; I’m sure
His disciples must have wondered whether their Lord had rotted:
“I’m leaving right now, my Savior!”

Sandals rubbing into callouses, lungs heaving,
I ran back to town, through the streets that
Once knew me in despair, grieving,
Hardly stopping, for I had no time to chat.

My Savior has risen, he is alive and well,
He has saved us lost sheep who have gone astray,
And although He no longer on Earth will dwell,
He will never allow us to fully decay.

I’m sure when you die he will call your name too,
With a voice soft and sweet but firm and so true,
And you will go be with Him and He’ll make you brand-new,
And we’ll all live forever from our own Easter morning, too.