An Easter Poem
Imagine with me a most dreadful state. If there was no Easter, what of our fate? First let us consider we’re under a spell. A world that very often feels closer to hell.
Every atom and cell that aches and strains. All groaning to be delivered up from their pains. A universe mourning its paradise lost. Unable to measure the extent of its cost.
Under a curse, no hope is in sight. Our hearts full of fear and an endless night. Death’s bars are so strong, its gates shut tight. None able to break the bars open with might.
One goes insane with this dismal reality. The cosmos itself, the grand fatality? Is this why we busy ourselves in vain? To distract us from impending doom and pain?
Our nakedness we cover with fig leaves galore. Rushing to all that this world has in store. We know of our guilt for this nasty mess. Weighed down and tired, and full of stress.
Our guilt is piled high, nigh unto a mountain. Longing for cleansing of a purest fountain. We’d have no proof of life beyond the tomb. No renewed earth that will flourish and bloom.
Stuck in war, violence, and cruelty galore. Deep down we long for someone to restore. Talk of reversing the curse is a bore. A mythical dream, something of lore.
Only in fairy tales, by dreamers, but not true. Not for real live humans, not for me and not for you. Imagining no Easter is a very hard thing. Perhaps it’s because this myth has truth’s ring.
Easter’s impact has become so pervasive, It is near impossible for me to erase it.
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