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.

Sunday Speaks

[also appears as featured poem at Spillwords]

See the cross on the hill?
Can you hear it—
the echo of nails driven deep,
the labored breath,
the whispered prayers between the pain?

Darkness gathers, pressing in,
watching, waiting, smirking.

Satan leans in close,
fingers steepled, smile slow.
“This time,” he hisses,
“This time, the light goes out for good.”
And for a silent Saturday,
it seemed like he was right.

His breath—stolen.
His body—wrapped.
The tomb—sealed.
The sky—mute.
The earth—still.
Mary weeps,
John trembles,
Peter remembers the rooster’s crow
and drowns in regret,
The disciples scatter like leaves in the wind,
Hope lies buried behind a stone.

But wait.
Listen.
There’s a rumble in the dark.
The grave shudders.
Stone grinds against stone.
The breathless King—
inhales.

And just like that—
Death loses its sting.
The heartbeat of eternity
kicks open the door of death.

And the stone—
the stone rolls back like a defeated tide.
The grave gasps,
Satan stumbles,
Heaven’s angels sing, “He is not here. He is risen.”

Do you hear it now?
The sound of victory echoing through time?
The whisper of mercy rewriting history?
The roar of love that death could never hold?

Let the mourning turn to dancing.
Let the silence break into song.
Let the world know—
Sunday speaks.
And the grave has no reply.

For parts 1&2 in the trilogy, click through: Friday, The Longest Night, Saturday Was Silent

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In creative solidarity, Dee