I've planted seeds
of wrath and sin, but He
Lies dead inside a
tomb, for days encased
Within a shell that
should imprison me,
But justifying
payment is embraced.
The third sun rises
on His winter's wait,
And in the smiling
light, the seed explodes.
Though stagnant
once, the life-blood circulates,
And living, free as
blood, forgiveness flows.
His heart bursts
into blossom and it beats
With laughter and
with songs of victory.
Like springtime
rain, His blood has drenched the seat
Of mercy. Jesus
sings sufficiency.
For me this priest
will ever intercede.
Unfurled here at
this tomb is life indeed.
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