He stood where hope had been buried,
four days of silence behind the stone.
He knew the command He would give,
that breath would return,
and life rushing back with it.
Still He stands there,
and He weeps.
Not out of weakness,
nor out of doubt.
But because death is an insult,
even when it’s temporary.
He feels the rupture of love,
the ache of a world not as it should be.
And the voice that would shatter the grave,
breaks in grief.
Then, through tears,
He calls into the dark,
and it bows and gives way.
For even in sorrow,
even in pain,
He is mighty to save.
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 2:24 AM UTC
He stood where hope had been buried,
four days of silence behind the stone.
He knew the command He would give,
that breath would return,
and life rushing back with it.
Still He stands there,
and He weeps.
Not out of weakness,
nor out of doubt.
But because death is an insult,
even when it’s temporary.
He feels the rupture of love,
the ache of a world not as it should be.
And the voice that would shatter the grave,
breaks in grief.
Then, through tears,
He calls into the dark,
and it bows and gives way.
For even in sorrow,
even in pain,
He is mighty to save.