If the stone was never rolled away,
a hollow ache would whisper deceit.
The hymns of ages, a mockery,
and faith would totter on brittle lies.
But if He rose, light splitting stone,
if flesh renewed defied decay—
then the pulse of stars is His,
and every breath must bow in wonder.
There cannot be a gray horizon,
no blurred middling path to tread.
The cradle of belief must shatter,
or rise as the cosmos' shining axis.
One Life, the fulcrum of all things,
one act to rend the veil of time.
If true, what other truth could stand?
The very marrow bends to this glory.
Deny, and the whisper crumbles all.
Believe, and the pulse becomes eternal.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: April 5th, 2026 03:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Gray this is most beautiful. Its wording is marvelous and it speaks the truth in its last lines what believe becomes our truth. A fave my friend
Thank You Soren Happy Easter
You are welcome and a Happy Easter to you as well
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