There was no grave grave enough
to ground me
to mound me
I broke the balm then slit the shroud
wound round me
that bound me.
There was no death dead enough
to dull me
to cull me
I snapped the snake and waned the
war
to lull me
to null me.
There was no cross cross enough
to nil me
to still me
I hung as gold that bled, and bloomed
a rose that rose and prised the tomb
away from Satan’s wilful doom
There was no cross, death, grave
or room
to hold me.

(c) Stewart Henderson – All rights reserved.

Find more Stewart Henderson poems at Eden Books