Four days I lay inert within my tomb,
Unmoved by man or son of man. No doubt,
You had to craft a miracle — exhume
Dead Lazarus! — and so you yanked me out.
Sun-bright forgotten light assailed my eyes,
And dusty air again rasped through my throat.
Just who are you to give what God denies,
And jab your holy finger at my mote?
Well, you have yours — and I my splintered cross
To drag across the gravel of the day
Until I die once more, and someone toss
My twice-dead carcass graveward to decay.
My Savior! Save no more. At my last breath
Pray do not cure my sickness unto …
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