Whispers of grave clothes
beckon me today,
whispering, conspiring,
insistent voices
demanding death
where life has
been given,
telling old stories
over and over,
sucking me down to the grave.
+
But I will stand firm
in this new life,
transformations work is begun
in me and will be completed,
death is overcome,
and though the graves
mouth yawns
wide in my path
I will not enter,
I have died to death
and risen to the newness of life's
unfolding gift ...
