In sepulchral shadows, where hope lies interred,
A dreadful whisper, a truth most absurd,
Creeps forth from tombs where faith has been slain,
Echoing the apostle’s words of cosmic pain.
If He, the Crucified, lies still in death’s embrace,
Our souls, like wraiths, wander in disgrace,
Shackled by sins, a nightmarish plight,
Forever lost in an eternal night.
Oh, the horror of a world unredeeemed!
Where salvation’s promise was but a dream,
And all our prayers, like mist, dissipate,
Leaving us to a most abysmal fate.
In catacombs of doubt, where shadows linger,
Hope’s corpse festers, touched by decay’s cold finger,
For if the stone remains, unmoved and stark,
Our faith is futile, a flame snuffed in the dark.
Behold the cosmic horror, the caliginous dread,
If Christ, our anchor, remains among the dead,
Our sins, like spectral chains, forever bind,
Leaving naught but madness to plague the mind.
Yet in this necronomiconic nightmare of despair,
A glimmer of light pierces the fetid air,
For if He lives, if death’s bonds He did sever,
Then from sin’s grasp, we’re liberated forever.
But hark! The tomb stands empty, void of decay,
The Resurrected One has made His way,
From death’s dark realm, He’s triumphantly trod,
Vanquishing the cosmic horror with the power of God.
Dear friends, Recently, I found myself pondering the profound words of 1 Corinthians 15:17: “And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins.” This powerful verse sparked a poetic reflection within me, and now I share it with you.
