The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulcher
on the Morning of the Resurrection by Eugène Burnand
Running all the way,
bent double in breathless pain
we peered and saw
the gaping grave
open to the rising sun.
Slowly we entered, our eyes sun-blind,
when we saw the empty bench,
the bloody cloth cast within.
I try to imagine
the piercing flash,
the sudden shudder
of His broken body,
His sharp breath exploding
like a swimmer breaking the surface,
when I saw John’s eyes
outshining the sun,
and my own face
lighting even death's
darkest place!
(24 April 2011, 31 March 2018)
