The Resurrection
A poem about rising again...
The Resurrection We were told the story belonged to one. One body rising. One miracle. One holy exception. But step outside and look closely. The earth does not agree. All around you, what was buried is breathing again. Branches once brittle now soften with green. Flowers bloom again From what was dormant. Nothing argues for resurrection, it simply happens. Again. And again. And again. What if this day was never meant to be only about one man rising long ago, but about the pattern woven into everything? The quiet promise that what falls apart is not the end. That what goes dark is not gone. That what feels dead may only be waiting. Waiting for its natural rhythm to revive the Life that already lives through it. Beloved— you are not outside this rhythm. The places in you that have withered, that have closed, that have forgotten how to hope, they are not finished. They are in season. Resurrection is not rare. It is not reserved for the chosen. It is the way of things. The way of the earth. The way of the soul. So do not be afraid of your winters. Do not rush your falling apart. There is something in you that knows how to rise. Not once. But as many times as it takes to become fully alive. Raudri (Maria Rippo)


Shared this with my family ❤️ I have never been into poems until I started reading yours