Risen
by Austin Jepson
April 16, 2017
Stone rolled from the tomb.
Where have you taken Him?
Mary pleaded and wept.
The Gardner unknown softly replied,
He is not here. He is risen.
Show me His body
That I may prepare it
With linen and spices.
He is not here. He is risen.
Please sir, have mercy.
He was my king,
And my Lord.
He is not here. He is risen.
Why won’t you tell me?
Is it not enough that you hung Him
On a cross made of wood
With nails in His hands and feet,
His side pierced and bleeding,
A crown of thorns on His head?
Is it not enough that you unjustly accused,
You spat and you mocked,
And freed Barabbas, a sinner, instead?
He is not here. He is risen.
Do you even know that He suffered so much
That He bled from every pore,
So that you and I can be clean?
Do you not feel the loss and the sorrow
That even caused the earth to mourn
These last three days?
Please, sir, take me to Him.
Let me bathe His feet in my tears
And anoint His head with sacred oil.
Mary, Mary.
Mary, can’t you see?
It is I.
My Lord and my God.
Can it be?
Look at the prints
In my hands and my feet.
Feel of my love.
But touch me not,
Not yet.
I am with you always.
Keep my commandments
And always remember
To come, follow me.
And we will embrace
At the right hand of God
For the rest of eternity.
Comments(2)-
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Lori Wood says
April 16, 2017 at 10:51 pmAustin, your Easter poem touched my heart. I love you.
Aunt Lori
Janet Hewlett says
April 17, 2017 at 4:49 pmI too love your poem, Austin. My soul is continually touched by the depth and beauty of your words! Thank-you!
Janet Hewlett