Running all the way,
bent double in breathless pain
we peer and see
the gaping grave
open to the rising sun.
Slowly we enter, our eyes sun-blind,
when we see the empty bench,
the bloody cloth cast within.
I try to imagine
how light must have pierced the cloth,
the sudden shudder
of His broken body,
His sharp breath exploding
like a swimmer breaking the surface,
and I notice John’s eyes
outshining the sun,
and my own face
lighting even death's
darkest place!
This poem is beautiful. I enjoyed reading this very much, some things you can say with poetry that isn't possible to be uttered in conversation, truly a well written work!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a wonderfully unusual poem about the resurrection. No sentimentality, no goo, nothing that usually accompanies and ruins such a poem. It moves and moves one to ponder.