A poem for Easter
One by one, guardian stars
extinguish their beacons
and yield to the exuberant
brightness of the waking
Sun.
Below, a newborn world basks in
reconciling light: opening,
blooming, exulting in the
victorious dawn.
The air itself comes alive
and shakes off its stagnant
seep, stirring the trees to sing
once again.
Night lays in ruins: death-dark
grip broken, it vainly seeks
refuge among the shortening
shadows of an empty tomb.
Divine Overtones 