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I could not tell by darkness or light
how long I had lain in my stone prison,
unable to move, breathe, or unwrap myself from
the clothes that bound my rotting flesh.
As the thick air transformed my body into dust,
I heard the voice of the one I did not believe in.
He told me to come out, rise up,
but I could not find my way out of the darkness.
I felt my way across the damp walls, finding
leverage and guidance in the jagged edges encasing me.
When I found the way out, I also found that I lacked
the ability to escape on my own – the stone was too heavy.
I fell to my knees, defeated, until I heard whispers
in the air around me, and the stone shifted slightly against my palms.
The sunlight, long lost to my sunken eyes, seeped in
through the cracks that bled dust into my tomb.
I was again called out, and I allowed my weary feet
to drag me into the forgotten breeze of the living world.
I felt my bandages twist away from my matted hair.
My lungs tasted breath for the first time in days.
The darkness melted away from me in sheets,
slowly unwrapping my body, mind, and spirit
and allowing me to again embrace the light
which I had yearned for so deeply in my death.