And now,A stone, the size of twelve men
Moved like a mountain on its way to the sea.
And on the fresh wind of morning
Came the Son of Man.
His shroud, a wedding garment,
His feet between Earth and air in dance.
Death, Sin and Fate poured rhetoric
Into the stirring air about them.
But the silent Son of God only danced
To music beyond their words.
He whirled around death and with each turn, death himself grew old
Till with a last, unbelievable look he saw no more.
Then wordless, Christ spun around the words of Sin
And there was only a mouth without a voice.
Next, Fate heard the risen footsteps, and frost formed on his tongue.
As Christ leapt before him, he froze in mid sentence,
Iced by the warmth of God.
Next, there was only morning and the dancing man of the broken tomb.
The story says, He dances still.
That is why,
Down to this day
We lean over the beds of our babies in the moments before they sleep
And tell them the story of the risen dancing man
So that the dream of Jesus will carry themThrough the night
To the Dawn.