Old Man Lazarus (A Poem) John 11:1-45

Old Man Lazarus,
frail these recent days,
bordering on the apocalyptic,
a thinning darkness clamped down,
more sensitive in his mind,
his place in the cosmos unsound,
assured that he’s dying,
again at the completed end,
of his second time around,
his first tomb eagerly awaits,
present tense to be past case,
death certainly doth portend,
now with Jesus long gone,
for whom might he send?
Mary and Martha,
personalities known,
by the arbitrary sound,
of English words,
paired forever,
with the nature of their being,
to listen and serve,
a common sense theology,
can never be proved,
but invented and seen,
between the counterpoints,
of life and death,
pleasure and joy,
major and minor,
yet never falling prey,
to the cult of empty significance,
and forgotten resurrections.

–Richard Bryant

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