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Ghazal of the Silent Vigil on Holy Saturday, Where Faith Glows in Night’s Unyielding Hush by Debbie Harris

19 Saturday Apr 2025

Posted by in Bible Centered Poetry, Christ Centered Devotionals, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, easter, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings

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The ghazal, titled “Ghazal of the Silent Vigil on Holy Saturday, Where Faith Glows in Night’s Unyielding Hush”, captures the meditative stillness of Holy Saturday through the traditional ghazal form of eight couplets with a recurring refrain. It portrays the sacred vigil as a quiet, persistent act of faith amid grief, set in a starless, silent night. Sensory imagery—flickering oil lamps, a sealed stone, a distant bell, and mourners’ tears—evokes the somber atmosphere, while spiritual themes of hope and trust thread through each couplet. The poem reflects the tension of waiting, suggesting that in the sacred hush, a subtle promise of life and resurrection stirs, cradled by the night. The ghazal’s repetitive structure mirrors the cyclical nature of the vigil, binding personal devotion to the eternal hope of Easter’s dawn.

In shadows deep, we hold the vigil’s call,
The heart keeps watch through night’s unyielding thrall.

No star ascends to light the garden’s gloom,
Yet faith persists, a flame within the sprawl.

The oil lamp flickers, faint against the dark,
Its glow a prayer that rises, though it’s small.

The stone is sealed, no sound escapes its guard,
But silence sings of hope beyond the wall.

A distant bell tolls once, then holds its breath,
Its echo binds the soul to heaven’s hall.

The mourner’s tears reflect a sky of gray,
Each drop a vow to trust, despite the pall.

What stirs within this pause, this sacred hush?
A promise weaves through time’s eternal scrawl.

O Holy Night, you cradle what we seek,
Your quiet hums with life that conquers all.

Three Voices of Holy Saturday: A Triptych of Sonnets by Debbie Harris

19 Saturday Apr 2025

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The triptych poem, titled “Three Voices of Holy Saturday: A Triptych of Sonnets”, comprises three Shakespearean sonnets, each giving voice to a distinct figure—Mary Magdalene, Peter, and the tomb—reflecting on the liminal stillness of Holy Saturday. Mary Magdalene’s sonnet expresses personal grief, portraying her as weighed by Christ’s absence, lingering in a mournful garden, yet sensing a faint, unnamed tremor of hope. Peter’s sonnet grapples with guilt over his denials, the tomb mirroring his shame, though a stirring wind hints at unearned grace. The tomb’s sonnet speaks as a mythic guardian, cradling a transcendent mystery and proclaiming its role as the hinge between death and victory, assuring the dawn’s coming. Together, the sonnets weave sorrow, shame, and silent promise, capturing the day’s tension between despair and the unseen hope of resurrection.

I. Mary Magdalene
My heart, a shroud, bears absence as a weight,
This Holy Saturday, where dawn is gray.
The garden mourns, its olive branches sate
With grief that chokes the light of breaking day.
My hands, still spiced with myrrh, are empty now,
No task can ease the wound his death has torn.
The stone stands fast, unmoved by tearful vow,
Its silence louder than his cry forlorn.
Yet in this pause, a tremor stirs the air,
A pulse too faint for hope, too strong for dread.
I linger here, though sorrow bids despair,
And watch where love and loss have made their bed.
O Christ, my soul awaits what none can see,
A dawn that might redeem this agony.

II. Peter
The rooster’s crow still burns within my soul,
Three denials carved where faith once stood tall.
This day of hush indicts my heart’s parole,
Its silence brands me traitor in its thrall.
The tomb reflects my shame, a mirror cold,
Where vows I swore lie shattered at his feet.
My courage failed, my love too weak to hold,
And now this stillness sings of my defeat.
But why does wind now whisper through the gloom?
Why does my heart, though broken, faintly strive?
Some promise lingers, hidden in this tomb,
As if his word could bid my guilt revive.
I wait, unworthy, in this shadowed hour,
For grace to mend the strength I failed to shower.

III. The Tomb
I am the pause, the seal of stone and night,
Where death and hope in silent contest lie.
No mortal eye can pierce my guarded sight,
No voice can break the hush that I supply.
Yet I am more than darkness, more than end,
A cradle for the light no star can claim.
Within my depths, a mystery transcends,
A breath that kindles life beyond the flame.
The world without may weep, may doubt, may flee,
But I, the hinge, know what the dawn will bring.
My silence holds the name of victory,
A rising none can fathom till it springs.
O you who wait, your vigil is not vain—
I guard the dawn that shatters death’s domain.

The Threshold”: “A Free Verse Meditation on Holy Saturday’s Stillness, Poised Between Tomb and Triumph by Debbie Harris

19 Saturday Apr 2025

Posted by in Bible Centered Poetry, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, easter, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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The free verse poem, titled “A Free Verse Meditation on Holy Saturday’s Stillness, Poised Between Tomb and Triumph”, captures the liminal essence of Holy Saturday as a threshold between grief and hope. It invites the reader to stand in the gray, silent moment where the tomb, a mute sentinel, guards an unnamed secret. Vivid imagery—dew on olive leaves, a songless garden, a trembling sky—evokes the day’s stillness, while personal reflections connect the reader’s own experiences of loss and waiting to the biblical scene. The poem suggests a subtle shift: a buried seed splitting, a faint pulse in the earth, hinting at resurrection without naming it. This threshold, where sorrow frays into something new, carries a silent promise, a name that knows the reader, blending intimacy with mystery in anticipation of an unseen dawn.

Stand here, where grief and promise touch,
on this gray edge of Holy Saturday,
where the air hums with what might be.

The tomb gapes like a held breath,
its stone a mute sentinel,
guarding a secret no one dares name.
Dew clings to olive leaves,
and the garden forgets its song—
no sparrow stirs, no wind replies.

You, too, know this place, don’t you?
The pause after loss,
when the heart stumbles,
afraid to hope, afraid to break.
Your tears have carved their own garden,
your nights have sealed their own stone.

Yet look—
the sky trembles,
not with light, not yet,
but with the weight of what waits.
A seed, buried, splits its shell in the dark.
A pulse, faint, hums beneath the earth.

This is the threshold,
where the old world frays,
where sorrow’s thread unravels
into something new.
Stand here,
feel the ground shift,
soft as a whisper,
strong as a dawn no eye has seen.

Do you hear it?
The silence is not empty.
It carries a name,
and it is not yours,
but it knows you.

Villanelle on the Heavy Silence of Holy Saturday, Where Sorrow Awaits Hope’s Trembling Dawn by Debbie Harris

19 Saturday Apr 2025

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The villanelle, titled “Villanelle on the Heavy Silence of Holy Saturday, Where Sorrow Awaits Hope’s Trembling Dawn”, captures the liminal essence of Holy Saturday through its repetitive, cyclical form. It portrays a world stilled by grief, with the sealed tomb and heavy silence symbolizing despair after the crucifixion. The refrains—“The stone is sealed, the world in silence lies” and “Yet hope, unseen, awaits with trembling skies”—weave a tension between sorrow and the faint, unseen promise of resurrection. Imagery of a weeping garden, mourners’ tears, and a stirring pulse evokes the day’s quiet vigil, where doubt and faith coexist. The poem reflects on the pause between Good Friday’s anguish and Easter’s joy, suggesting that in this sacred stillness, hope subtly prepares to break through.

The stone is sealed, the world in silence lies,
No song ascends to pierce the heavy air.
Yet hope, unseen, awaits with trembling skies.

The garden weeps where sorrow’s shadow flies,
A cross’s echo haunts the heart’s despair.
The stone is sealed, the world in silence lies.

No dawn arrives to dry the mourner’s eyes,
The tomb stands cold, unyielding, stark, and bare.
Yet hope, unseen, awaits with trembling skies.

In whispered doubts, the weary soul complies,
What promise holds when death’s decree is there?
The stone is sealed, the world in silence lies.

But in the pause, a pulse begins to rise,
A mystery stirs beneath the weight of care.
Yet hope, unseen, awaits with trembling skies.

This day of hush, where grief and grace chastise,
Binds dark to light in stillness none can share.
The stone is sealed, the world in silence lies,
Yet hope, unseen, awaits with trembling skies.

Sonnet on the Stillness of Holy Saturday, Poised Between Sorrow and Resurrection by Debbie Harris

19 Saturday Apr 2025

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The sonnet, titled Sonnet on the Stillness of Holy Saturday, Poised Between Sorrow and Resurrection, captures the liminal essence of Holy Saturday. It portrays a world hushed in gray, suspended between the grief of Good Friday’s cross and the hidden hope of Easter’s dawn. The tomb’s silence and the absence of song reflect a pause in time, yet a subtle promise of renewal hums beneath. The poem explores this delicate balance—sorrow’s weight, anticipation’s edge, and the quiet wait for resurrection’s light. It invites reflection on the sacred tension of waiting, culminating in the expectation of love’s rebirth at Easter.

A stillness wraps the world in muted gray,
Where sorrow lingers, yet the dawn’s concealed.
The cross’s shadow looms, but hope’s at bay,
A fragile pulse where grief and grace are sealed.

The tomb is silent, cold, a pause in time,
Between the anguish and the joy to come.
No song ascends, no alleluias climb,
Yet in the hush, a promise softly hums.

This day, poised delicate on sorrow’s edge,
Holds breath for light to pierce the darkened veil.
In quiet, hearts await the Spirit’s pledge,
A resurrection none can yet unveil.

O Holy Saturday, you bid us wait,
For love’s rebirth at Easter’s open gate.

Sonnet of Forgiving the Judas Who Betrays the Trust of the Heart by Debbie Harris

18 Friday Apr 2025

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Summary of “Sonnet of Forgiving the Judas Who Betrays the Trust of the Heart”

The sonnet explores the pain of betrayal by a “Judas” figure, a trusted person whose deceit wounds deeply, breaking the bonds of trust. It acknowledges the universal experience of encountering such traitors, whose false smiles hide harmful intentions. Despite the lasting scars, the poem advocates for forgiveness as a path to healing, suggesting that mercy strengthens the soul and fosters inner peace. By releasing resentment, one discovers a divine grace and achieves personal liberation, finding freedom in forgiving the betrayer.

In shadows cast by trust, a Judas stands,
His kiss a blade that carves the tender soul.
With whispered lies, he breaks the sacred bands,
And leaves behind a heart no longer whole.
We all have known such traitors in our days,
Their smiles a mask, their words a hidden sting.
Yet in the wound, forgiveness finds its ways,
To mend the hurt and bid the heart to sing.
For though the scar remains, a silent mark,
The soul grows strong when mercy takes its place.
In letting go, we light the inner spark,
And find in grace a mirror of God’s face.
So pardon those who wrong you, set them free,
And in their freedom, find your liberty.

We Dwell in a Corrupt, Immoral, Atheist Modern-Day Babylon Where America Has Forsaken Its Judeo-Christian Heritage by Debbie Harris

18 Friday Apr 2025

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The sonnet, titled We Dwell in a Corrupt, Immoral, Atheist Modern-Day Babylon Where America Has Forsaken Its Judeo-Christian Heritage, is more pointed, focusing on America’s perceived moral decline. It laments the nation’s abandonment of Judeo-Christian values, depicting a corrupt, immoral, and atheist society consumed by greed and self-worship. The poem mourns the erosion of sacred traditions, replaced by superficial pleasures and digital idols, and warns of a potential reckoning for a nation that has lost its spiritual moorings.

In cities vast, where neon veins entwine,
A Babylon remade in chaos stands.
America, once bound to laws divine,
Now spurns the creed that shaped its heart and hands.

Corruption weaves through halls of power’s might,
Its tendrils choke the just with gilded lies.
Immorality, in brazen daylight’s sight,
Parades unchecked beneath indifferent skies.

Atheist tides erode the ancient stone,
Where once the cross and Torah’s wisdom reigned.
The altars crack, their sacred vows outgrown,
As fleeting pleasures leave the soul enchained.

No shepherd’s call can pierce the urban din,
Where self is king and truth wears thin and frayed.
The marketplace exalts the loudest sin,
Its wares of lust and pride in heaps displayed.

We’ve cast aside the covenant of old,
For idols wrought of silicon and flame.
Our hearts, once warm with stories prophets told,
Now chase the hollow spark of fleeting fame.

O nation, drunk on freedom’s reckless wine,
What reckoning awaits when stars grow dim?
Will grace return to heal this fractured vine,
Or shall we fall, estranged from Heaven’s hymn?

We Reside in a Modern-Day Babylon of Neon and Code by Debbie Harris

18 Friday Apr 2025

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The first sonnet, titled We Reside in a Modern-Day Babylon of Neon and Code, portrays a contemporary society likened to ancient Babylon, characterized by technological splendor and moral ambiguity. It depicts a world illuminated by neon and driven by data, where truth and falsehood intertwine. People are captivated by screens, worshipping transient digital gods, while the relentless flow of information drowns out deeper meaning. The poem contrasts the grandeur of this tech-driven “city” with its fragility, questioning what endures when its digital foundation falters.

In urban sprawl where shadows cloak the soul,
A Babylon reborn in hubris thrives.
America, once tethered to control
Of Judea’s code, now scorns those ancient scribes.

Corruption festers, greed an idol crowned,
Immorality in neon lights parades.
Atheist winds erode the sacred ground,
Where once the cross and star in honor blazed.

No altar holds, as screens our gods anoint,
Each pixel pulses with a hollow creed.
We’ve turned from grace, from virtue’s steadfast point,
To worship self and sate our fleeting need.

O nation lost, in decadence’s sway,
What hope endures when faith has slipped away?

The Eternal Cry of “It Is Finished” Proclaimed from the Throne of Sacred Triumph by Debbie Harris

18 Friday Apr 2025

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The poem, The Eternal Cry of “It Is Finished” Proclaimed from the Throne of Sacred Triumph, vividly portrays the crucifixion moment from John 19:28-30. It depicts Jesus Christ as a triumphant, royal figure on the cross, described as a “throne of sacred wood.” The poem captures His fulfillment of scripture by declaring “I thirst,” receiving sour wine, and proclaiming “It is finished” as a majestic edict of victory over sin. The imagery emphasizes His divine authority, with the heavens darkening and earth quaking, culminating in His sacrifice and triumph. The cross is celebrated as a “royal crest” where love and glory unite, and Christ’s final cry resounds as an eternal testament to His sovereign reign and redemption. The tone is majestic, triumphant, and reverent throughout.

Upon the throne of sacred wood,
The King of kings in glory stood.
The heavens darkened, earth did quake,
As He the chains of sin did break.

“I thirst!” He spoke, His voice divine,
Fulfilling scrolls of holy line.
With hyssop raised, the wine they bore,
To touch the lips of Heaven’s door.

He tasted gall, the offering grand,
The scepter held in wounded hand.
The ancient words, now brought to reign,
Proclaimed His triumph over pain.

“It is finished!” thundered He,
The edict of eternity.
His head He bowed, His spirit soared,
The Sovereign Christ, forever Lord.

O cross of might, O royal crest,
Where love and glory manifest!
“It is finished!” rings the call,
The King has conquered, reigning all.

The Centurion’s Awe at Golgotha: Christ’s Sacrifice Unveils Divinity in Triumphant Victory Over Satan’s Dominion by Debbie Harris

18 Friday Apr 2025

Posted by in Bible Centered Poetry, Christ Centered Devotionals, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed

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The poem, “The Centurion’s Awe at Golgotha: Christ’s Sacrifice Unveils Divinity in Triumphant Victory Over Satan’s Dominion”, portrays Good Friday through the centurion’s perspective, capturing his transformation from stoic soldier to reverent witness of Christ’s divinity. Vivid imagery—torn skies, quaking earth, bleeding wounds, and radiant light—depicts the cosmic upheaval of the crucifixion. Rhetorical questions probe the power, mercy, and truth revealed in Christ’s sacrifice, stirring the centurion’s heart. The Savior’s cry, “Finished!” rends the heavens, as faithful hearts behold His glory. The poem closes with the centurion kneeling to proclaim, “Truly this is the Son of God!”—affirming Christ’s blazing triumph and eternal reign over Satan, blending solemnity with majestic hope.

On Golgotha’s grim, shadowed rise,
The cross looms high beneath torn skies.
A centurion stands, with hardened gaze,
Yet stirs at sights that truth ablaze.

What sacrifice does this man bear?
What love divine through anguish rare?
The thorns that bite, the blood that falls,
Proclaim a King who death forestalls.

Through darkened noon, the heavens wail,
The earth’s deep groan no strength can veil.
What power shakes the sacred ground?
What mercy in such pain is found?

The soldier’s heart, once cold as stone,
Now trembles at the cross’s throne.
What light through dying eyes does gleam?
What grace redeems the darkest dream?

The skies convulse, the rocks divide,
As sacred blood from wounds does glide.
What voice, though stilled, yet shakes the air?
What truth unveils through mortal prayer?

In faithful hearts, His glory wakes,
A love that hell’s dominion breaks.
“Finished!” His cry the cosmos rends,
The reign of sin in ruin ends.

No darkness veils this holy light,
The centurion kneels in reverent sight.
“Truly this is the Son of God!”
Christ’s triumph blazes, ever bright.