Rebirth

[thinwheats]

It is raining on Easter Day.
Mud bogs down the believers
Who are there to roll the stone away.
They press their backs
Against this mass born of the Earth.
Their feet fail them and
They soil their faces;
But tears of joy draw lines in
Their mired cheeks.
With a start the Rock moves.
Its post compromised, the sentry groans
Against the force of anticipation.
Victory! Allelujah!
The granite mass makes its final turn
And cracks down its length,
The illusion broken.
Set on the altar was a burlap sack,
And a corpse.
The True Believers looked on the rotting flesh,
Touch the dried lips,
Felt the chill of stagnant blood.
They crumbled to their knees,
They collapsed,
Filling the cave with unexalted emptiness.