Pure new light – a poem for Easter weekend

Header Image Pure New Light

Light creeps round the edge of the curtains, gentle steel-grey washing newness across this new day.

Pure morning light is a beautiful unsullied

blank canvas

stretching out, unmarked, unhurried

heavy-laden with opportunity

laced with forgiveness.

Today we get to start again

breathe deep and start over

forget that which is behind, and with optimism and anticipation clear as faith, press on again

towards that which we imagine with eager hope but cannot yet see with mortal eyes.

 

It seems impossible now to remember what it felt like in the dark

hues of black blue

and all it’s bruising heaviness wrapping itself around us like drowning

and we are left gasping for air, clambering for the surface and

dipping under and under and under again

no sense of time in the drowning

no sense of

tomorrow

 

Is that what it was like? To hope and not know?

To live and learn and love

and to see it gone

and not know whether it will return? whether it was all that it was meant to be.

Is that what they lived with when he was taken from them?

their friend

God

King

hunted down

handed over

hung up to die.

 

To wander in the abyss of the unknown

where time does not fit a frame

speeds up

slows down

relentless

crawling

Is a particular kind of itching torture

that brings in eager bedfellows:

doubt

fear

pain

who revel in their role in tormenting the mind already tormenting itself all well and good enough.

 

But then it comes again

rising like the morning son and washing us still all over again

that blue-grey steely hope

that never dies.

 

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