[luvie]

It is the whisper of the first breath;
It is the rustle of graveclothes
Being laid aside, folded and
Squared on a cold ledge.

It is the sound of fingertips
Brushing along a hewn wall
In predawn darkness.

It is the rasp of a stone wheel
Grating in its track.

What unearthly stillness
Greets this once-corpse as
He surveys the earth
That had been his torture-chamber.

I hear these sounds
Across two thousand years, and
My lips strain to speak to Him.

I want to tear away
My garments of death.

I grope through my darkness,
My shoulder failing against the weight--

This sound I hear,
This sound I hear
Is the sound of my Jesus
Rising again in
My heart.

...Latanye C. Scott

The Gaithers~It Is Finished
[click]

[Mama_Bear]

To all; the FR management, the moderators (whomever you may be), and to faithful FReepers across the fruited plain....