A tomb now suffices him for whom the world was not enough.]

And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

Don’t carry your ideas to the grave untouched.

We are the children of a womb.Yet we differentiate each other,On color, creed and the sizes of our tombs!!

The dusty tombs of long-dead exorcist priests lay in the alcoves below, surmounted by stone effigies, the features eroded by the passing of time and the reverent caresses of their grateful parishioners, a reminder, she knew all too well, of the brevity of life.

What would behoove me to instantly declare God not to be God unless He followed my script in some tediously exacting manner? I must confess that I am less likely to believe that it’s a matter of some narcissistic demand that I freely pen my own script. Rather, I think it’s fear that I’m too inadequate to follow God’s.

Death would not surprise us as often as it does, if we let go of the misbelief that newborns are less mortal than the elderly.

Easter is a time when God turned the inevitability of death into the invincibility of life.

Easter is God throwing everything at death so that I can give everything to life.

Maybe I don’t have enough beginnings in my life because I fought against the endings that were about to birth those beginnings.

Sooner or later I will realize that the very things I most desperately need are the very things I am unable to give myself. Therefore, I will either be left despising the fact that I am doomed to live out a life that is perpetually empty, or I will realize that an empty tomb is the single thing that will eternally fill me.

Of course God does outrageous things. But in reality, what insanity would prompt me to follow a God who did anything less?

Easter says that every ending ever experienced by man is exquisitely crafted to find its own ending at the feet of a fresh beginning.

There are an incalculable number of things within me that I frantically wish to be emptied of, and despite my most earnest efforts to remove them, they remain. And it is Easter that reminds me that God empties out tombs.

Although I rail against it, death is the dark demarcation beyond which I am at the mercy of my own end. To the contrary, an empty tomb says that my end is at the mercy of God’s beginning.

I am pressed to admit that I don’t have the capacity to understand the bloodied horrors of a cross and the wild exhilaration of an empty tomb. But at the point that I think I completely understand God, I have at that very point humanized Him and in that very action I have lost Him. Therefore, I much prefer to simply marvel.

God emptied out that first tomb so that He could turn around and empty out me.

A god of the ‘possible’ is no God.

Easter is the final solution to the finality of death.

My limitations abruptly define the frighteningly negligible extent of my existence, yet my soul utterly perishes if bound by those very same limits. And does this not somehow evidence both the reality of and need for God?

Easter is the invulnerable tale of utter selflessness where at an inestimable cost God did for us what He did not need done for Himself. And that kind of ‘doing’ happens every day.

If God has the answer to every question, maybe my appreciation for God should be shaped more by the number of questions and less by the wisdom of the answers.

We need to know that our limits do not define our limitations. And an empty tomb does exactly that.

Reasonably speaking, we can see the cross as entirely possible. But in considering Easter, we see an empty tomb as entirely impossible. And is it possible that God had to do the impossible to finally get our attention?

Do I dare believe such an absurdly outrageous story that a man would die, lay lifeless in some tomb for three days and then somehow live again? Yet, if I dare to consider it, is that not exactly what I so desperately desire for this lifeless life of mine? And is Easter God’s tenderly outrageous way of telling me that that is exactly what I can have?

My sin murdered Him. And out of this self-loathing shame borne of the understanding that I could perpetrate such a heinous act, I am barely able to raise my head sufficiently to ask what crazed insanity would prompt Jesus to walk out of an empty tomb for the single purpose of pursuing a decaying soul that murdered Him? And I would be wise to consider that the question itself is asked only because I have yet to touch the barest periphery of God’s love despite the fact that because of an empty tomb it stands right in front of me.

My tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over it.

The sorrow that lay cold in her mother's heart... converted it into a tomb.

THE NAKED HEARTFrom womb to tomb,There came and went -Only you.Poor or rich,You will die withOnly you.All the wealth you harvestIn the living,Will go to others when you are dead.But the true test of a lion of God -Is to keep giving with your own hands,Before you rest in your final bed.

Does one love a statue?" she demanded. "Shall I caress a picture? Shall I rain tears or kisses over the mere semblance of a life that does not live, shall I fondle hands that never return my clasp? Love! Love is in my heart -yes! like a shut-up fire in a tomb,but you hold the key, and the flame dies for want of air.

A tomb now suffices him for whom the world was not e

My life will end someday, but it will end at my convenience.

The mint from your breath, the milk from your breast, the best of your mind, now in its worst state of condition. From the womb to the tomb, as a mild flower, you break your petals upon blossom, and seize death openly. Leaving your fragrance to spin and dance, one last time before being blown away.

Some people die and you realize that the only mark they left on earth are the tomb stones under which they lie. The impacts you make on earth should be something worthy to improve lives.

Prepare for a radio, for nothing is silent like the grave

Delay is not a help-mate. The cemetary is full of people who thought they could DO IT tomorrow. Do It Now!

You are a cool cemetery.You have the sinner’s graveYou have the saint’s earthcollidingYou have all the bedsnarrow as a knife;as if a rally of tombstones to defend death.But you can’t really postponethe inauguration of my burial,can you?From the poem - Few Words to Cemetery

Music helps to forgetThis forsaken tomb,That is my abodeCellars downFar belowUnder the ground, ...

Tongue and hand tied, I was equally cut off and trapped in my own silent dark tomb.

But of these things I must not now speak. I will tell only of the lone tomb in the darkest of the hillside thickets.

Before an empty tomb, we will come to know that Christ our Lord has burst the bands of death and stands forever triumphant over the grave.

Jesus' tomb wasn't His grave, but our door.

It is almost startling to hear this warning of departed time sounding among the tombs, and telling the lapse of the hour, which, like a billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave.

A tomb is a vault, a vault is a home,” Mr. Sadlot said casually sniffing the flower in his lapel. “That’s where the deceased chose to reside and that is where he will be placed.” Kekaju and the Hidden Swamp