Low Saturday Lazarus
They have taken him down.
We are entombed once more.
Airless, gasping, hopeless, grasping,
I’ve been here before.
Dark dank stone in cold salute,
no light, no shaft, no torch.
E’en terror has no shape down here,
and I cannot call him forth.
Icy graveclothes bind us both,
sour grief my only choice.
No cosmic quantum spark for him,
no breath, no word, no voice.
I’m rescued once to grieve again,
still mortal, still constrained.
Fool! Once I thought his dazzled life
could never be contained.
Go on through all the paces,
hope buried, questions rife.
Slink homewards all you devotees.
We’re sentenced, all, to life.
© Sharonne Price