By Richard Bryant
They scream at me,
“You missed him!”
I didn’t get to see.
I left on a whim
while they saw history.
When I return they tell such lies.
He was here, he is risen, he is alive.
I will not believe till I’ve seen with my eyes.
I will not agree till I’ve touched his side.
Do you hear my anger?
Can you feel what I say?
All you’ve seen is an unknown stranger.
Our world does not work this way.
Then a voice I’d know from anywhere speaks,
“Thomas these things you say aren’t true.
Hear my bones creak,
see where I’m bruised.
Shout from the rooftops,
speak the words,
‘The tombs of night
hold truth no more.
Freedom has come for
those who have born