FIRST DAY
From midnight on the prospect of sun rising first day in the week, a sleeping Savior prepares to open his eyes. Second Adam touched by the Father’s helping hand, who is speaking silently the invitation ‘Wake, come cross the frontier.’ Sitting up, stars far above, overhead points of light in eon’s black dome deep in the tomb, the day has already dawned new flower unfolding on a bed of old dreams casting off the slumber of time sparking a new order hidden in stone sharp ray of light slicing the bonds. Six days we work and worry they slide into the hope, the incredulity beyond our control, a Root splitting rock Seedling transforming its old shell revelation has become charged with energy Sunday step into the cradle of truth and the opening rhyme of resurrection.
Scott Eagan
March 10, 2019
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