The resurrection


As I walked in the homeland of the dead

I saw a solitary figure stand up and rise,

Beneath eerily lit midnight skies.

From the mound of a new dug-out grave

A wasted spectral form began to rave.


In vague recognition, I called out your name

But your deaf ears seemed not to hear,

Even though I was standing very near.


Wizened dry hands clamored towards the sky.

In that moment I heard your deep woeful  cry.

When the dark owl called out your name,

I saw your shape instantly begin to freeze.

Then slowly you dropped down to your knees.


Extreme terror claimed ownership of your face.

Of your former magnetism, there was no trace.

With all the human frailty that remained in you,

You made feeble attempts to elude death’s decree.

A futile effort in trying to set yourself free.


Sudden flaming fire poured out of my grieving heart

Your lips locked against mine, taking us back to the start.

To the place of light where our souls knew each other,

Your head against my breast, like a child clinging to a mother,


To love and to hold and find a new reason for living,

I know what you need and I’m here, yours – for the giving.