Lazarus

There was nothing that could be done for him
He was toast,
The bullet had ripped through the large artery,
The bullet fired from the robbery gun,
The bullet with his name on it,
He saw it coming, you know,
Saw it exit the end of the S&W
Then slowly make its way toward his chest,
There was nothing he could do but watch:
A little boy riding a red bicycle to school,
Climbing trees
Going fishing,
A young man in Viet Nam coming home to be alive,
A middle aged surveyor,
An older man playing T’ai Chi,
All of these coming to him
With the .357 slug in slow motion,
He deflected it with his hand
But it was too late,
Then there was the voice commanding him:
“Stephen, get up and come out,”
He walked out of the rough-hewn tomb
Shedding his bandages,
Blinded by the Light,
His beloved Mary and Martha before him,
The Sanhedrin standing in awe
Grinding their teeth.