Mary Wept
Mary wept before the morning knew its name.
The stone was rolled away,
and silence answered where love had lain.
She did not seek a kingdom,
nor a throne of earthly glory.
She sought only the One
who had spoken peace to the broken
and hope to the forgotten.
Her tears fell upon the ground
like rain upon thirsty fields.
The garden held its breath,
and even the wind seemed to wait.
Then came a voice,
gentle as dawn upon the hills:
"Mary."
In that single word
the night surrendered its sorrow.
Death released its claim,
and despair lost its tongue.
She turned,
and the tears that had been planted in grief
rose into joy beyond telling.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for the Lord remembers every tear.
He does not leave the faithful
to walk forever in the valley of shadows.
So Mary wept,
but not as one abandoned.
For where love is stronger than the grave,
every tear becomes a witness,
and every dawn proclaims:
The Living One
is not among the dead.
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