Brightly colored eggs and little yellow plastic baby chicks,
And chocolate eggs with bands of color, and brown chocolate bunnies,
And green shredded grass-like plastic, filling up the basket;
I see it in my mind as clearly as I saw it as a very small child.
The Easter egg hunts, when finding each egg was a prize,
And more than that, the golden egg, which awarded a live baby duck.
Easter had a meaning for me then, far different than it has for adult men.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Then, at the age of ten--smart shiny black new shoes;
The smell of leather and polish.  Walking with brother and sister,
Down the paved sidewalk next to the street, on our way to church.
Crisp pressed clothes of bright fresh newness, with a new-clothes smell.
The sun shining bright.  No knowledge then of carcinogenic sunlight;
Only good warm sun-rays, shedding bright days, a kind loving blaze.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Easter feasts.  From age four to age twenty.  A huge, wide, long table,
The entire extended family there, including cousins, aunts, and uncles;
And lots of neighbors and friends, and friends of neighbors and friends;
And no stops on how much or what you could eat; there was plenty.
From age four to age seven, I sat at separate smaller tables just for kids.
But the food was still stuffing.  Glazed honeyed hams.  Juicy ducks.
Turkeys sometimes, with a flavor of Thanksgiving.  Dressing.  Pickles.
Pies of all kinds--apple, peach, plum--and vanilla ice cream, home-made.
And before starting to eat, a prayer of grateful thanks to God was prayed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A studious teen who found out all kinds of things.  Easter celebrations,
Under many names, took place in many times and many nations.
Not just Christian; many names of hopes.  Easter, the hope of new life.
Like green grass and shrubs and leaves on trees, growing again--
After cold winter--when Spring and Summer sing their song of energy,
Of light and warmth--stretched time of long good days, short cool nights.
I read histories and anthropological texts, and found out all kinds of facts.
But in the end, Easter is the hope for healing for all that our life lacks.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Strange to say to my Jewish friends, they should embrace Easter's heart;
A celebration and hope from many times and lands.  Pagans loved life too.
Pagans loved their children and mothers and fathers and their friends.
They were as human as you or I, and they also did not want to die.
But seeing that death would catch them all, they gave God a long loud call,
Under many names, but directed to the same mysterious Creator of all.
Save us.
- - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Grown now.  I'm a grown-up. 
That I would ever be a grown-up was once too hard to believe,
Impossible to conceive.  The eternal days of childhood sheltered me.
I had little idea of anything like real misery.
And, feeling eternal in a day, in every hour, little idea of real eternity.
But I'm a grown-up now.  I should be an old man some day.  Real old man.
Eighty, ninety, a hundred.  Actually, even that isn't really old, I know;
It's just that we start to look like a withering leaf, toward end of life brief.
So we imagine that such people are old.  But a Sequoia tree is not yet old,
Even after three thousand years beyond its birth have rolled.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I should be an old man some day.  Real old man.  But I won't be.
Cancer has come for me.  It will take me; for the research has mostly been
On prevention, and very little on a search for a real cure, for late-stage.
I feel great fear.  Standing on the edge of eternity, too soon.
As if any time would not feel too soon!  But this is really far too soon.
I face the abyss.  The loss of all my memories and all that is. 
The loss of me.  I know too many things of history and anthropology,
To have faith.  But I know too many things of life's miracles and magic,
Not to continue to have hope.
And I remember Brian, who had enough faith
For the both of us; I leaned on his faith.  I still lean on his faith.
I miss my precious friend Brian,
Who died, way sooner than he should have.
I pray every day Brian will have good new life,
And not be lost in the grave.
Easter reminds me that others love life too.
Easter reminds me that no one really wants to die.
And so, today Easter is here; and I hear, echoing in my childhood's ear,
A loud cry: "Lazareth, come forth!"  I fall to my knees, and weep.
I pray, and hope.

==============================
Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka (thanks to Luna) Mr. Poet
Written on Sunday, April 24, 2011  7:33 am PDT
60 degrees F.   Humidity: 31%  Forecast: overcast
Copyright (C) 2011 by Michael LP.  All rights reserved