It is almost like a resurrection

A poem

From out of the dead sea scrolls

Ashes, ashes, all fell down.

Like the Blood of Christ on holy bridge.

The timbers bleeding across sinful days,

and prevaricating to the Heart,

which was scored by spear.

But then a clarion call does strike,

Fear inside a sacked-out ear,

And what seemed an advance,

Turn spades from Trump into Clubs:

clubbing mouth to climate change

that change all fitness could rumble

into transubstantiation free

in resurrection deep.

And ruined the sizzle of black jobs

into a green real new world.

When Spades do shadow

to each Diamond,

All will say:

Doubled and Redoubled

from scabs of shuffle,

It is another day.