1. The King Sleeps
I will mine the agony of my God with a pick and a lamp.
I will hew the stones and teach them to cry ‘Hosanna!’
I will fashion a tomb to bloom in a garden
I will fracture the face of Israel with a blow
That will become an earthquake
To awaken the dead.
I will set my lamp beneath a splintered tree
I will close my ears against the forsaken cries of the Holy One
I will seal my mouth against the acrid taste of blood
I will shut my eyes to hide the corpse that hangs above me.
His eyes, not -closed. His body, not-clothed.
‘IT IS FINISHED!’
It’s over. God -
Adored, outpoured - passes over.
Numbed, beyond fear, I whisper a lullaby into the dark:
‘Be still. Be still.
Death dies -
The King sleeps.’
2. God Awakening
I will celebrate the victory of my God in silence, and in song.
I will gaze upon the likeness
Of the one-who-was pierced.
I will touch the mystery
Of the dead-one-living.
I will trace his signature over my heart:
North to south
East to west:
King of Kings
Lord of Lords.
I will open my mouth to sing the serenade of the stars,
The song of the angels before the throne of God.
I will shout into the sunrise, a canticle for my King:
The Lord is Risen -
I will bury myself in his joy,
And, with laughter,
I will rise again.