The essence of Easter

Awake, ye souls in slumber drowned,
a symphony of scent and sound!
The world explodes with vibrant light,
the chilling grip of winter takes its flight.
Petrichor and lilies sweet,
their perfume on the air compete.

See now the stone, a vacant tomb,
where shadows held their fleeting doom.
No linen drapes, no lifeless form,
the Conqueror has weathered every storm.
Angels stand in radiant gleam,
whispers rise like fragrant steam.

But Easter’s heart is more than this,
a paradox of joy and bitter bliss.
The thorny crown, the splintered tree,
they paint a love we scarce can see.
Not victory without the sting,
not triumph where no sorrows cling.

For in the garden, dark and cold,
the seeds of grace took root, we’re told.
They burst from earth in colors bright,
dispelling fear in dazzling light.
And echoes from the empty grave,
reveal the power all can save.

It’s not in eggs of painted hue,
nor bunnies soft or baskets new.
The essence lies in hearts transformed,
by love’s embrace, weathered and stormed.
This Easter story, strange and true,
reveals its power inside of you.