After three years of having much to say,
Our Saviour remains silent.
He peers through the iris of Pilate,
He remembers how he flung planets into space like marbles,
And saw the face of Satan in that cosmic fall.
He looks to what is ahead and meekness ties his mouth,
The mighty hosts of heaven are quiet now,
They hold their breath.
Not much is left to say now, other than the resurrection itself.
It will speak a loud and bright boast.