Lazarus Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Only a god could pull a stunt like that,
Like plucking a plumb from a pie past its sell-by date.
There are lines which should not be crossed,
Lairs should be left unopened.

Death made living flesh is miraculous
But also barbarous.
It doesn't seem right... like trawling the night
And catching the moon in a bucket, just for the hell of it.

Quite a show, as spiritual parlour tricks go.
But what of the gape in the ground?
What becomes of the status quo
When the dead start shillyshallying to and fro?

What if, to your surprise the dead did rise,
Long after time had chosen to erase them?
Would you look them in the eyes?
Would you turn and face them?

(`All things arise and bloom in their time, and then they return to their root. Their returning is peace.'
The Tao Te Ching XVI)