There is a grief beyond words,
a finality
found in this tomb.

The Giver of Life
and Defeater of Death
has died
and lies here
shrouded and buried.

The hillside’s open maw
has swallowed not just my Lord’s body –
broken and bloodied by senseless torture –
but also every last scrap of my hope.
Nothing remains.

So here I’ll sit
in the dark outside His tomb,
and weep
for the loss of his light
and the death of my dreams.

What else can I do?

Who can do for my Lord
what he did for others?
Who but he can reach
down into death
and raise him up to life again?
Who but he?