The Empty Tomb Poem by Gene Simia

Come with me to the foot of the Cross,
Where the Son of Man redeemed our loss
A man of no import, wealth or fame,
His body strewn on a wooden frame.

Come with me to the foot of the Cross,
Where the sin of the world as an albatross
Lie bare to the multitude for all to see,
The mysteries of eternity.

Come with me to the foot of the Cross,
Where even his garments were sold and tossed
His cry of thirst in ear shot of all,
Was met, with the taste of gall.

Come with me to the foot of the Cross,
A nail, the spear, in time embossed
He cries 'Forgive them for they know not what they do,
The raiment being torn in two.

Come with me to the foot of the cross,
Questioning agony of a mothers loss
'Mother behold your Son' he cries
The earth awash in rumbling sighs.

Come with me to the foot of the Cross,
The guards shout, 'This was the Son of God'
Transforming power through the shedding blood,
Their hearts changed as in a raging flood.

Come with me to the mountain Tomb,
Where kept inside this earthly womb
The temple of the living God,
Whose feet upon the earth once trod.

Come with me to the mountain Tomb,
A vigilant guard to be assumed
Whose watch though long could not foresee,
The earth contained eternity.

Come with me to the mountain Tomb,
The nightly watch of men attuned
The shock of boulder, rock and stone,
Cast aside, answers unknown.

Come with me to the empty Tomb,
where the Son of Man was thought to loom
All that was left were garments stained,
The precious blood upon them remained.

Come with me to the empty Tomb,
'He Has Arisen! ' as a flower in bloom
The memory of His promise that his Temple would be raised,
Filled their hearts with joy, to God be all the praise!