Easter Fog

Future possibilities fade into reality

as fog licks at the road before me

and I roll onward through the present

in awareness of glory:

light curling through eddies

in spiraling descent

escaping the grasp of obscurity.

And I can breathe again.

The tomb could not hold him,

For light is not drowned out

by darkness, nor fades

Though the morning is shaded

It grows–like a song or a shout.

And I breathe; for glory

is the presence of hope

not the absence of fear

And tell myself the the story

of an open tomb waiting

for my presence here

in the soft light of a foggy morning

Where hope faded into reality.

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