Poetry

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I heard the wailing
and felt the earth shake
that day of His death.
I saw them lay down
His lifeless body covered in
burial cloth, blood still
staining His hands and feet.
I saw them roll the stone
in front of the opening. I could
hear the laughter of the guards
wondering why Roman soldiers had
been given this lowly task of watching
over a dead body. The darkness
unbearable and I longed to worship
the one who lay there. Then the
earth began trembling yet again,
and the light of His glory filled
this place. I ached to cry out,
here He is, O Israel, the Son of
the living God, but I remained
speechless. As the angel effortlessly
removed the stone, the light shown
so bright, I thought it was the
noon hour. The guards gone now,
I hear women coming towards
me - and yearning to tell them
all I had seen - I remain
speechless. The angel told the
women to leave and tell the others
and they did. Many came to
me that day, wondering what
had happened. Many still come,
and as I desire the words to
describe all that I had seen,
I remain speechless.
For I am the tomb that held the
most precious gift of all and
I will remain speechless.

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