By Jenneth Graser —
Fear wrapped around some linen garments
Myrrh, spices for a man now dead.
Nothing to fault him for, no deed, or word
But spat upon and beyond recognition
Such fear, the fear of all of love in a tomb
All of the love in the world now dead.
How can such fear be broken, rent, shed?
Only by a love greater than death.
Now the stone rolls away
And perfect love walks out.
A gardener who stands in front of the morning sun
Becomes my Teacher, the only Son
Who takes hold of my hands
The kindness lines his eyes, he says
“I am returning to my Father and your Father,
To my God and your God,
This poem comes from Catching the Light By Jenneth