Standing at the empty tomb,
wanting to believe.
yet dried up.
Dare I hope? The tomb is empty.
The faithful have made my faith a mockery.
The lovers have bruised my fragile heart.
The believers have filled me with doubt.
Tenaciously clinging to something --
Why do I hang on?
Why have I not yet fallen?
Could I already be damned?
But there is still hope, my bedrock.
Hope screams at me to hang on,
calls out to me to relax,
whispers I am not alone.
From behind, the glow of dawn,
and a voice which says... “Woman, you need but turn around.”