“Why seek the Living One among the dead?“
asked angels to a few who‘d watched the Lord
be crucified—His blood and life outpoured,
“He is not here! He‘s risen as He said!“
In days before these women wept in grief
as Jesus‘ lifeless body, wrapped in shroud,
lay buried, guarded, sealed from Paschal crowd,
but by God‘s plan entombment would be brief!
His slaying served full payment for the debt
incurred against Himself by mankind‘s sin.
His raising proved His sacrifice the win
to satisfy God‘s wrath, my debts forget!
Because Christ Jesus died but ever lives,
the sin of all who trust Him God forgives!

The Lamb assumed the sin of all the world,
absorbed God‘s holy wrath—the debt sin owes.
Redemption‘s check written with hammer blows,
into remitting sea sin‘s wage He hurled.
For lost, sick souls eternal life Christ bought—
the graced life freely offered through new birth
to those who‘ll humbly hunger for His worth
and trust the vanquishment for which He fought.
By taking up what WE deserve—wrath‘s cross—
Jesus won our victory, laying down
His life, His glory and His heav‘nly Crown
till, as He rose, He overcame all loss!
His sacrifice and risen life receive
when in Christ‘s saving power you believe!

I was so sad, a stagnant mood of dread,
And advice from others could only tire.
A state between living and being dead,
Was at those moments by only desire.
It was a time of brooding and much thought,
So that my feelings were clouded like rays,
No matter what I did – I just could not
Feel like myself, like in older days.
Let the spring of the past come back again;
The tulip's blooming, and her stem is steady,
Along the breeze of dawn, its healthy rain –
But most importantly, my heart is ready.
    I realized, that in the very end,
    My holy patience was my only friend.

A spring breeze rolls with fog through the forests
singing through a night that seems endless.
Dead flowers, unbeknownst where wind sends us
can't help but falter beneath blown torrents.

You were beautiful, sculpted like marble,
then given an eternity in spring.
How nice to not know what frost will bring,
freezing petals, a dying ensemble.

You couldn't help but to only murmur
despite how badly you wanted to scream,
eyes glossing over, they no longer beamed.
Your hand, like your heart, losing it's fervor.

A thousand flowers will consume your grave
and you'll die, never finding what you crave.

Wait just a minute, I just remembered
How selectively action is taken
Don't hesitate to see me dismembered
No mind fissure will form; you're not shaken

Remember to recycle the knife, friend
**** a companion to save your planet
You'll be there and to the next life I'm sent
Seems we both have fantasies about it

I died when my body wasn't my own
It left me, now a stranger and a ghost
Immortal, no longer bound to this town
The metaphysical needs a free host

They know I cheated them, cheated my death
One last bowl of lettuce before the hearth

Great stretches of wisteria's shadow
reach longingly through an endless field,
towards a slow dripping skyline that seemed
so much closer than it would ever know.

The sun's now passed. What could you hope to find?
I'm helpless but to bask in flowering
petals, falling like brush strokes blossoming,
painting the wind that'll leave us behind.

I've only wanted to be here with you
but like winter will do to your branches,
shades of grey ennui weigh on my canvas.
Like spring and the wind, I will leave you too.

Of all shades you are, all palettes you bear,
this sad overcast is the last we share.

As ripples brush upon the rocky reef
your eyes swallowing the light of each star,
cascading lines of deep ebony mar,
subversive painters showcasing your grief.

Wings never clipped, but promises unkept
tore your heart from you, hung out not to dry
but sadly to, instead, be crucified.
Cornered at last, in helplessness, content.

You were never abandoned by heaven;
all the sadder that they just didn't care
like a storm rolling upon a fledgling.
An apology too much concession
I felt no satisfaction nor despair,
indigo tides at your neck now welling.

The sun feels colder as it shines
through this aging stained glass,
decorated in such inspired design
of stories and heroes now-surpassed.

Such a glimmering lens standing vast
consumed my eyes while the smoke
swirled up and rose to climb past,
to choke the sun out from that window.

Two ravens, with my heart, sink low
to perch upon weather-worn pillar;
the winds carried them, as I overflow.
Drowning in my my own burgeoning river.

It's only myself, to myself, I've reviled,
draining out my heart, I wore the saddest smile.

Your eyes like falling stars, cascade
down, chasing Summer's drifting flowers,
their crescendo, with the breeze will fade
upon a wind-swept dance in this final hour.

And I saw myself in their somber drift.
Surrounded by the blooming scorpion grass,
I sank into the deep sea beyond the cliff
as each wave hammered a nail in my casket.

The briefest of drownings broken by a song
as a nightjar cooed from the dying laurel
in a perfect nest where his melody belong.
While my heart lapsed: yours felt immortal.

It's halt dismissed at the winding of vines
as your fingers are mine lastly intertwined.