Easter
Between an egg and the cross
I pause for a beginning
Quite different from my loss
Clean as a new born leaf
From a sprig of God
I am now the fallen sheaf
And he coming like my spring
Bring dead buds to life
From his blood, the saving King
Deters the looming knife
Hoarding everything I kept
The hardened fruit and thickened cell
Separating me from the vine
The fiery colors bore nothing but promised hell
While silvern waters gurgle at my feet
Aloft in the brimstone air
He lifted to cross the oestrus could not dream
The wrenching agony
Or the precarious teetering
The final exultation of his pain
But I love better Sunday morning
The flower coming from his rest
And the hope of the King's returning
The triumph song of the blest
Easter is a twisted story vanishing the day
Frivolous little bunnies and pagan dreams
Of cash registers piled furnace with brimming hay
Let me disengage, a fallen leaf
I am nothing but beauty in the mulch
And yet some leaf grows like wings
Gathering light
And energy, making the flight
Of hope a better resurrection than spring.
by
David Smalling
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