what have you done?

what have you done
with my fears?
i left them
on the dresser last night
and now,
they are gone!

what have you done
with my death?
it has suddenly
disappeared,
and i've ransacked
the house trying
to find it!

what have you done
with my name?
it was ground
underfoot
by the taunters
and tormentors
of Friday . . .

my fears have become
wildflowers
in Eden's garden,
my death
is the tattered shirt
now used
to mop up spills
at the Lamb's Table;

and my name
is that sweet whisper
in my heart,
as you take my hand
to dance the
Resurrection Waltz.

(c) 2008 Thom M. Shuman