The Return Of Lazarus

the walls of the tomb are cold hushed echoed lightly
by the hesitant steps of the mourners whose torches flicker
a soft light off the memory of the shroud before them
that haunts their recollections like the land
for which no name can hold a promise

finally one arrives amidst rumors of how he deserted the departed
but all he can tell the expectant is there are days when one does
not control the destiny which even a savior must inhabit

he turns to the body calls forth the breath of life to touch
the resonance of the one who lays there distant
from his own existence and in the ensuing quiet all watch
as the dead rises knowing full well that the only payment offered
for such a resurrection is the long demise

of the slowly forgotten

his final rest will be another tomb that is a grave
of his own creation where no savior will ever return

with the gift named the punishment of life with a conscience