Cradled within the womb of death, scripture beats defiant.

Lean in, to discern hope’s unfolding;

multiplying cells of truth over pregnant centuries. Giving

breath to us, too often, dragged to the grave. 

Soothing empty arms,

with strong proof of life after life.

So soft, it is thunder in the vast

noise of doubt’s marketplace.

Firming

backbone to bow

to no man.

Resolving who knit whom together.

Renewing covenant with an empty

grave.

Our souls

swollen with

grief—for but a while.

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