#PoemADay No.53: Son of I Am
Standing here,
my mind filled to the brim
with images of creations and revolution,
all I can see through the fog of the present moment
are my insecurities,
and how great everyone else is doing,
and I start to wonder if my goals are too big,
I wonder if there is truth to what they say,
if I am just a kid fresh out of college with lofty dreams just waiting
to be picked at by vultures and bills and a 9-5 shift.
I wonder if, like they say, my religion and faith are just man-made ways to cope with
the pains of this world.
When they ask me what I want to do with my life,
I reply softly with broad strokes to keep the anxiety at bay.
I am tempted to hide the stars placed in my palm by God
behind a stoic face
because I am torn between their approval
and His questions:
do you trust me?
I say I think so.
He says it's a yes or no answer.
In this very moment, in this silent battle,
will you believe?
...
Every step I take,
there is always someone trying to put me in my place.
But what they don't know
is the meaning of my middle name:
there is only One who can tame this imago Dei.
Besides, there are just too many visions in my brain
of what could be if I let Him lead
for me to entertain
the noise of a garden snake.
Besides, the word says in His name I find victory,
so I speak of titans with roots deep in Heavenly places,
of companies, collectives, and cavalries,
of plans that sound more like death threat and battle cry
to these supremacist regimes,
I speak with the fire of dragons, ascending chariots, and burning bushes,
I speak with thunder and bass so my demons hear me,
with the spirit of a still small voice so they fear me.
They are learning to keep their guard up in my presence
'cause I have chosen to speak like I know the genes of Elohim
reside in this chocolate temple.
I have chosen to free my speech
and that makes some people uneasy.
Maybe
it's cause they know and see
that black dreamers die in America--
just ask Dr. King.
But to them I say:
what do man-made bullets gotta do with my faith?
If God is my Father and Jesus is the door, I ask:
what can a capitalist country of crooked politics and criminal police do to me
without approval from the Lord Almighty?
Hear me:
in the words of Miles Hodges and Carvens Lissaint,
there will be days when Heaven doesn't seem so close,
days when devils will test you the most,
days when you start to think the ears of Christ have shut themselves closed
and comets of brimstone have called you target
and locked onto your pulse.
On those days,
stand up.
Let your praise be the weights
that keep you grounded in the promises of He who needs no name
but I Am
because to every single need,
He already is.
The answer.
The key.
The way.
The supply.
To every need, He is God.
I know seasons of doubt will come.
Faith seems easy in theory.
The work is a lot less cozy.
But the cross was no cake walk,
so if the Creator of all things could come down
to live and look and eat and bleed
like me,
if Jesus could give up His seat
so I could sit with the King,
if He could rise like a phoenix,
and put that same spirit in me,
Lord how could I not believe?
You've done it before,
You will do it again.
I've seen You move,
have felt Your groove and glimpsed Your glory,
I've seen You make mountain trees out of mustard seeds,
lilies of valleys where death used to be
until it met the Supreme at the door of Hades,
dressed like man
but overflowing
with El-Elyon, Yahweh, Adonai, Omega,
you are God,
the beast is not,
my past is not,
my ambitions, my things, my fears, my shame, my flesh,
their priests, their opinions, their laws, their checks
are not.
...
The enemy would have me compromise on my belief, my prayers,
but how could I be so bold as to think
the one who planted these dreams in me won't finish the work He began long ago,
before I was even a seed in my mother's womb?
I know better.
But even when I forget,
the Liar knows best:
that I am the body and elect of a Most High
the breaks bread with the broken,
makes Light bearers out of lost sheep,
and boulders out of pebbles,
movements out of moments,
who sampled Scriptures when tempted by serpents in deserts.
If He could hold on to His mission, even as He sweat blood,
by His grace, I will outlive and overcome every trial, every challenge, every flood,
just give me a couple trees and I'll build you an ark,
give me a sling
and, with a single shot,
I'll take the head of Goliath off
'cause I choose to believe
I am more than what I feel,
more than what they say,
I am who He says I am.
I am a child of the Master Creator,
which means I was built to be a creative powerhouse,
a light-filled juggernaut,
a knight with a pen for a sword and piano for a horse.
This is my war declaration,
my response.
To every dream and hope and vision
that I have lost hope in
because it asked me:
are you worthy of bringing what you seek to fruition,
I say, by the resurrection power vested in me,
I am enough.
Because the King has called me son.
And I have chosen
to believe Him.
What do you choose?