Poetry

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Written 9-2-05

What is this smell,
This acrid stench?
My skin’s encased,
Myrrh and aloe-drenched;
Lying cold and lifeless
In this cold tomb;
My body’s found
Within death’s womb

Yet, I trust You, Lord,
On this cold slab of death;
I trust You have taken
My last breath;
I trust You, Lord,
With darkened eyes;
One word from You,
And I will arise!

I have no choice
To wait for Your will,
‘til then I’m found,
Sleeping and still;
Cut me from death
With Your word’s knife,
For You’re The Resurrection;
You are the Life;
Make me unbound
By Your love,
Call me from death,
To You above.

Yet, I trust You, Lord,
On this cold slab of death;
I trust You have taken
My last breath;
I trust You, Lord,
With darkened eyes;
One word from You,
And I will arise!

A stone creaks,
Moving away,
The warmth of the sun
Brings in the day;
For all He is worth,
He lets out a shout,
With words ringing true,
“Lazarus, come out!

I trusted You, Lord,
On this cold slab of death;
I trust You giving
My next breath;
With this new breath,
I give You praise;
For by Your strength,
I have been raised!



“…they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, ‘Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.’”
When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.
Jesus said to them, "Take off the grave clothes and let him go.’"—John 11:41-44

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