The Man Who Lived Twice

One of my classes last semester focused on reading American poetry with our University's president. It was only a one-hour, honors colloquium class, which basically means it was just for fun. At the end of the semester, our final was to write a poem imitating one of the authors we had read. I chose T.S. Eliot, specifically his Christmas poem "Journey of the Magi."

I hope you enjoy this artistic attempt. And if you want to know a bit more about my imitation, I did also write a 4-page paper explaining it! Let me know if you're interested.

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I was falling, falling, falling,

As in the dream, which always ends

With the crashing realization of lying in bed.

But the jolt never came:

Instead, a gentle slowing, drifting down like a feather

Until darkness turned to soft light and I found myself

Reclining at a feast table with him.

Instinctively I knew: here was my forefather,

Abraham, the great friend of God.

Surrounded by beauty and comfort and rest we lay

No need to end or hurry away.

The smells of the food and the décor of flowers

Flooded my nose with a glorious melody of scents.

So much better this than my last conscious memory:

Of heat and fever burning me up,

Of pain all around aching in every limb,

Of concern on my sisters’ faces, and of hushed whispers

Of the darkness closing in, blacker than any unlit room;

And then the fall, and finding myself here

I could stay forever.

But then came the voice

Like a blast on the shofar, clarion and loud

“Lazarus, come forth,” the call was for me.

Abraham nodded: “The Master calls, His voice you must obey.”

Suddenly I found myself again floating away

I came to in the dark, my nose pricked now

By the fading smell of an old body.

Wrapped tight, I could barely move

Shrouded as I was, a cloth over my face;

Yet the summons had come and I must go.

I heard their gasps as I felt the light change

From the dim tomb cave to the bright outdoors

Martha, Mary, unwrapping me, holding me tight

Scores of people: friends, neighbors; startled, withdrawing

And there He stood, His face wet with tears.

So He returned me to the Life I used to live;

But nothing now is the same.

Rabbis don’t know what to do with me

No rules are there for one brought from Death to Life.

People come and stare and stare

And all I can remember is the feeling of peace;

I long for that peace. And now,

Now the chief priests want Him dead. Him,

And me also; we threaten their authority.

I know not what He thinks

Though I do feel from Him a special kind of pity;

Yet for me, Death holds no more fear

They can kill me if they want, I’ve already died

I would be glad to live that truer Life again.