The author of life
now wears the shroud of death,
He who said ‘I am the resurrection’
is lifeless, a corpse.
The world's true light,
in darkness dwells.
We weep,
the joy in our hearts has ceased.
We wait,
the seed is in the ground.
His body,
bearing the wounds of love,
Now descends into hell.
Violence, it seems,
has the final word.
We weep,
the joy in our hearts has ceased.
We wait,
the seed is in the ground.
- Swales, 2024
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