Last night, I had the worst dream about you.
You decided I wasn't worth the pain.
And like a ship that couldn't wreck, I tried
To strain against the waves of black and blue.
I just remember screaming through the rain
As you crept back into the tomb and died.
And as your lungs stopped moving, I sunk down
Beneath a freezing sea. But there were none
Now left to lend a saving hand, to drown
The fear. No Spirit to leave death undone.And so we lay there, you, under the ground,And me, under the ocean's depth around
My head. And the salt of my tears became
The sea. We'll have to re-brand and rename.
“But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead…”
I wrote this sonnet today. It’s in iambic pentameter with the rhyme scheme:
ABC ABC DEDE FF GG
The lopsided structure of the 14 lines gives it a disorienting feel with rhymes you would expect. That’s intentional to the subject. I’ve always been fascinating by Paul’s playing of the “what if” game in 1 Corinthians 15. If Christ is still dead, then we need to not call this Christianity. In fact, we’re the most pathetic bunch if the tomb still holds his bones. To me, that’s a nightmare. But I thought the passage was worth paraphrasing in order to remind myself of the importance of the empty tomb.