The holiday came.
He wasn’t ready.
He searched his memory,
and remembered long Masses,
and a priest
reading about a horrible crime,
committed 2000 years ago,
against a revolutionary
who preached about love and nonviolence.
In His world,
violence was normal.
At least, that is what he was told.
He marveled at the stories.
The trial had pushed him to a life
spent in and out of courtrooms,
Looking for justice,
hoping to find his own love.
Easter is a holiday
hijacked from non believers.
It is now a sugarholic orgy,
and a blur of rabbits and candy.
Perhaps a new understanding of rebirth,
and springtime growth,
is required.
What part of us begins to grow in the spring?
Does any part of us survive death?
Do our dreams act as a precursor to immortality?
Or, are we all prisoners of history?
He wanted to believe the fantasy,
He wanted to begin the Spring
with a belief and faith that anything is possible.
He only knew
that he didn’t know whether the sun would rise again.