by John P. Kristofco
He had grown accustomed to the dark, the silence, candor of the rock around him, echo of his sisters’ tears, his friends, promises they made as if to fool the truth, when he heard the stone removed, the wind, the words “Lazarus come forth,” and he felt the linens and the bindings stir. In the light, a tearful friend summoned him with outstretched arms. Lazarus, upon the threshold, half in shadow, half in sun, heard his own voice as if an echo, as if before, behind. “Do you not know,” it said, “that I must be about my final business?” And he bowed with all the love he ever knew, turned the way a key unlocks a door, and went back in the cave.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing