Oh, Holy Day by Susan L.

The Roman guard appointed,

To appease the Pharisees,

Spewing doubt,

Profaning God,

Pilate, once more, did please…

Soldiers, four… stand watch,

Guarding immoveable stone,

 Sealed

   By “Powers High”:

                Satin cord and wax.

Polished armor gleams,

          Tiny suns, glaring. 

             Noonday heat punishes.

      Sweat         Beads

                  Gathers,

            Streaming along creases

               Of craggy, weatherworn skin.

                                                 Dusty riverbeds

Cleansed by their passage.

Flies

      Swarm, pester, buzz with intent

        To partake of these salty waters.

                                      Hot winds

                   Stir clouds of grit;

                     Swirling,

            Dust devils

                           Fill eyes watering… to blindness.

Restless, puzzled, simple men mock

Order’s folly.

 He, whom is guarded,

                    Is Dead.

    Contempt drapes its fabric

             On their hearts,

             On their minds,

     Whispering foul words.

        Coarse humor

Spews forth

Ridiculing those who mourn,

Watching, waiting, hoping.

The moon invades: heatless light,

     Hidden creatures,

    Regale.

   Men shiver,

                                     Rough robes held tight, pacing

    Back and forth endlessly.

 The light of torches

                         Unveils macabre images,

                  Keeping fear… Alive.

New faces, somehow the same,

Crude jokes, duty,

Exchanged.  Groaning, mumbling

This onerous task received,

Sleep heavy minds clouded and dull.

                       Shadows

                  Are viewed warily, askance.

                      Eyes       flick      about,

   Nervous in this hour.

                                                 Birds chatter hesitantly,

                                                 Testing a hope of day.

Eastern heavens labour

        To birth the dawn,

        Torches sputter…smoke

      Blending with mist.

A pair of shadows, entwined,

                               Emerge from the ethereal haze.

     Mother and friend

     Swaddled

     Against the chill.

     Sorrow, anticipation,

     At war in their countenance

                    This Third Day.

The sentinels sneer, eyes roll, dishonoring

This early vigil,

     Haughtily they ridicule the likes

        Of foolish women.

Beams of light

                     Tuck straggling stars to bed,

                Blood reds reclaim the purple sky.

           Golden Glory

      Peers over the horizon.

                   Silent witness

                                 Of events to come:

The Earth snarls;

     Heaving,

                             Bucking,

                    Rocking.

         Bewildered guards

                         Powerless,

             Stumbling,

                               Struggling,

          To stay afoot.

        What should be solid,

            Now treacherous

               With Wrath.

               The Angel of the Lord appears,

       Blinding white sun-fire,

                                 Magnificent,

       Thundering,

         The seals, the might of men,

                       Inconsequential.

      HE ROLLS THE STONE AWAY.

 

Pride, arrogance, vanish,

    Battle veterans

       Scream,

                 Weeping in terror at the sight

Of this mighty being.

Falling,

                             Arms flung overhead,

   In futile efforts to shelter…

           To hide.

The Earth Stills.

Shocked… immobile…

     Soldiers humbled, listen;

       The Angel’s voice,

 That of running waters,

       Singular,

                                       Harmonic,

                    Amplified,

 Declares the message from God, 

                “HE IS RISEN!

The ladies’ dedication is blessed.

Quick, delicate footsteps fade……. away…….

Profound silence pervades,

    Broken only by staccato birdsong: 

    Rejoicing, rejoicing.

Cautiously, heads lift from their place

             In the dirt,

        Sand embedded cheeks flushed,

                        Pale,

        Surround wide open eyes,

                         Reddened by tears.

        Stale air drifts from the open tomb.

                            They rise:      Four now united.

                                                 Brothers-at-arms….close rank,

 Tentative, quivering, ashamed

  As one…..they enter the gloom.

 

Irises expand quickly,

  Turning eyes black as the grave.

        Ghostly outlines reveal:

PROOF!

        What they heard:

TRUTH!

                  Falling to their knees,

                                    They believe!

Pharisees and silver,

The language of their kind,

Bought the Watch,

The soldiers’ lips,

Did it change their mind?

Nov.2008

"Jesus said to him, "Thomas, because you have seen Me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen me and yet have believed."" Jn 20:29