Beforeword: A poetic meditation on the sacred arc of Holy Week. Each poem will capture the essence of a pivotal day—Good Friday’s deep sacrifice, Holy Saturday’s aching silence, and Resurrection Sunday’s glorious salvation. Together, they invite you into reflection, reverence, and renewed hope. May these poems stir your spirit and draw you closer to the heart of the Easter story.

Saturday Was Silent

Saturday was silent—
not a holy hush,
but a penetrating, deep silence.
A silence that reached the portals of heaven,
A silence that echoed in the hearts of men,
A silence that rang through the corridors of time, touching the cosmos so that:
The sun dimmed its fire.
The heavenly hosts hushed,
as if afraid to speak out of turn.
The song of creation
paused,
mid-note.
The universe—watching still—
whispered among itself,
“Was this the plan?
Is this the end of mercy’s reign?”

The disciples dazed—
dreams unraveling.
They had seen Him—
walk on water,
raise the dead,
breathe peace into storms—
and now?
He was the one entombed, sealed behind a stone?

Without the shepherd
the sheep scattered like dust in the wind,
hope gutted,
hearts hollow.
Peter still tasting his own betrayal,
John clutching pain where once beat a thunderous love,
Mary—
aching,
no more place to collect her tears.

The unfallen worlds leaned in,
uncertain now.
How could the Author
be erased from His own page?
What was Saturday supposed to be?
A pause?
A reset?
They had seen the war rage, a third of heaven deposed, but
Never the Word silenced.
Never the Light buried.

Heaven wept.
Counted every rotation
of an earth trying to orbit
without its center.

And beneath—
hell threw its victory party.
Satan smiled,
a grin too wide, too wicked.
Death bowed, received its applause.
The grave stood tall.
They whispered through cracks the cross made in creation:
“This is it.
Let the curtain fall.
Saturday is silent, forever!”

What they did not know—
was that silence
isn’t always surrender.
Sometimes,
God holds His breath
before He speaks the loudest word.

But,
On that Saturday—
the world didn’t know that.
On that Saturday,
it just hurt.
They just wept.
They just waited, afraid.

Saturday was silent.
And no one knew
if it would ever end.

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For the 1st in the trilogy, click through: Friday, The Longest Night

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In creative solidarity, Dee