Easter Sunday

Another quiet Sunday afternoon.
Still filled with fears and questions, but I know
Your stories take their time, so maybe soon
The way will be revealed, and I will go.
Till then, I wait and think about that morn
That guaranteed our hope, the end of night
At his rekindled light, when all the scorn
Seemed scant as those two Marys caught the sight
Of resurrection, life born out of death.
Their hope and joy once buried was renewed.
Their Jesus breathed with deep undying breath.
Forevermore, the darkness is subdued.
At last, the weight of ages finds release.
After the darkest day, unending peace.

Photo by J Lee on Unsplash


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