Just written ..
I often think that the first Easter saturday must have been the most miserably dreary day in history. Still excruciatingly numb from the horrors of the crucifixion, the disciples had no understanding of the glories that were waiting for them just one sleep away. and yet, somewhere beyond the fabric of their world, the greatest miracle ever was just getting set up (so to speak!)
My coin is spent, my hands are bare,
My life is like a played out tune
Stopped on a fading dissonance
Beneath a hostile, careless moon.
I have no eyes for any joy
Grated by soulless circumstance
And pirouettes would stub my toes
Before I had the heart to dance.
There is no hope. But hope, near dead,
Brims with a promise scarcely heard
Here, in this sorrow, wholly dark,
The shining whisper of Your word.
After despair, when tears are dried,
Comes the long burden of the night
Dawn is as hollow as a tomb
A pointless mockery of light.
And yet, and yet, and yet, and yet ..
Here, neither known or understood,
Stark at the crazy root of things
Knowledge remains, that God is good.
Knowledge remains, that promise holds
Here at the heartless hub of things.
The worst is done, the night is come.
Then why this sense of waiting wings?