Holy Saturday

Great Lord of Life-

Yet, on this day

There is no stirring in your grave.

No sound to break

The silent stone

That holds your body, cold, alone.

No ray of sun

Can enter here

To pierce the age-old dark of fear.

No breath of air

To halt the rush

Of your decaying flesh to dust.

Great Lord of Life

You come no more

To knock upon my hearts’ closed door…

Yet bitter irony indeed

My heart lies bare, your Cross the key

Dead Lord of Life to thee!