Country Graveyard, Easter Morning

Think of mouldy bones beneath the earth, and what it takes to raise them.
Think of hearts dissolved to paste, of fingers disconnnected
Think of minds reduced to nothing-- reformed, resurrected.
Think of tongues restored to praise aloud, and sightless eyes to marvel.

Death is the jackal that paces far, feasting where he wishes
on the powerful and great, on the weak and humble
on the valorous and saintly, on the ones who stumble
The jackal's fangs are broken now, his gory meal is ended.

Row upon row forgotten souls, lying in their coffins
Memories of ancient times, ghosts of former passion
Made and unmade out of dust, fashioned and unfashioned
They wait for the last full revelie, at the end of battles.

Think of standing by an empty tomb, and what it took to open
Broken sealing stone nearby, graveclothes strewn about
A strange light shines within the earth, and overhead a shout
The end of one dominion comes, the beginning of another.