A poem for Easter.

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The earth had not forgotten Him.

It held its breath those silent days,
soil stiff with grief,
stones whispering rumors in the dark,
roots curled tight like waiting hands.

Then—

a tremor.

Not of terror,
but recognition.

The ground that once received His blood
now stirred with holy memory.
Dust remembered its Maker.
Rock remembered His voice.

And when He rose—

the earth did not resist Him.

It opened.

Not as a grave giving up the dead,
but as a servant stepping aside for its King.

The stone rolled like a bowed head,
the ground loosened its grip,
and the morning broke into praise.

Light ran across the hills,
birds found their song again,
and the garden breathed like Eden restored.

For the One who formed the dust
had returned from it,
not conquered,
but crowned.

And beneath His feet,
the earth rejoiced to feel again
the weight of glory
that had once walked its soil

and now—

walked it undefeated.

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“He is not here; he has risen!” — Luke 24:6, CSB