The Resurrection
After the years of that
and that
and Goddamn bloody well that,
he rose again.
His skeletal frame and sparse hair
became more generous,
but he became a little less so.
He’d moved house four times
attempting to escape the tomb
that had become his life,
Each time he’d left just a little
of the deadly chaos behind.
After the determination to live again
wilted on the arboreal ends of his veins
he rose again,
one morning in mid Autumn.
For the first time in interminable years
he saw that the sun was shining,
the sky was blue and the trees remained stoic.
For the first time in time beyond memory
he could actually count
that he had a few friends remaining,
more people than he’d known
still loved him,
and a warm hearted woman
in his bed on the cold nights.
Beyond the unlimited years of death
he saw he had years of life ahead
because he rose again.
Peter Cartwright
June 2017
