In the realm where the divine once dwelled,
A silence envelops,
veiled in shadows,
untouched by motion,
unheard in speech.
Lifeless, the God-Man rests within the sepulcher's embrace.
God, now departed, casts a haunting shroud upon humanity,
A moment where our existence feels ensnared in a web of despair.
Restless hearts yearn for the divine,
yet find only the echo of silence,
For the sacred has met his demise.
Cursed are we,
in the pursuit of the immortal,
while the grave cradles the author of life.
The God-Man's form,
stained with the evidence of bloody sacrifice,
succumbs to decay.
Humanity,
in its brutal display of violence,
empire, and malevolence,
Extinguishes he who is embodiment of love
entwined with extravagant mercy.
Violence's brutality and the echoes of abandonment
— 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?'
Yield to the profound silence of Saturday.
Then, in a sacred and holy mystery,
the Galilean peasant's mangled frame is stirred.
The tomb's chains shattered,
unable to confine the essence of life and love.
The grave could not hold him.
He breathes anew,
and upon frail humanity,
a benediction of hope descends.
-Swales, 2024
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