Waiting at the Door of the Tomb

Waiting at the door of the tomb
Listening to the sounds of the night
The chirping bugs, the rustling brush
Something scurries by out of sight

Waiting at the door of tomb
Watching as the stars cross the sky
They shimmer with the dew of night,
As if they paused a bit to cry.

Waiting at the door of the tomb
The dusty smell of death and gloom
The bitterness of useless tears
The unrelenting sense of doom

Waiting at the door of the tomb
I’m not sure why I linger still
Death doesn’t change its course for man
And yet for Him… I think it will!