Lazarus
I imagine feet
walking on holy ground
with followers uncertain
of where they’re being led.
When the journey is
in progress and the trail
is being forged
trust isn’t in a destination
it’s in feet that go before.
Stillness surrounds
the chill and shiver shakes
the crowd, here,
lies a man struck by disaster,
you say take the stone away.
In a moment, there’s a miracle.
Who is this man,
who calls dead men
out of the grave?
Your actions I trust fully,
I vow to call you Lord, your
holy footsteps I will sink in
eager and unafraid.
But in my still, quiet comfort,
will I let buried feet
leave the grave
when you say,
come forth?
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