Is the past erased?  Perhaps, on a small
Scale, not metaphysical.  It's Easter
Sunday.  I have risen, hardly god, or even
Good, but burdenless.  The holiday ordeal
Is done, conducted prematurely, due to
Demon-tortured scheduling.  Decreed:
Our feast would be the first, our hunt
For eggs would come ahead of others.
As a consequence, the sun now rises
Over what is done, not what we ought
To do.  No dishes queue outside
The oven.  Their remains are neatly
Stored and stacked, the plates and glasses
Washed, and, thus, this august holiday,
Which, like most others, tends to foster
Tumult more than happiness, arrives
To find me, if not prince of, then an
Ordinary man who feels himself at,
Peace.