No Man Is An Island

I've been asked to write a poem for my class in a few weeks. After coming home from Bible study tonight I felt instantly compelled to just sit and write for awhile. To talk to God through my internal thoughts- to let Him know where I am, what I'm thinking, and where it is that i've reconciled I've come from. I'll admit that in reality it sometimes feels like I'm a little bit alone in my life- like I give so much to others and invest so much energy to get nothing back. And this is one of those nights. Anyway, tonight we talked about having Holy Courage and I battled with the idea that it takes Jonah 500 miles to get to God. Bypassing all emotion.

500 miles inside my head and i'm not liking it. 500 miles to keep changing my heart.
This is what I've come up with, and it just feels good to have something reflective like this- no matter the actual quality.

God Swell

500 miles of this expansive and

Expensive existence where potential hangs

In the splitting fingernails of life’s

Semi- sweet, semi self- destructive ways;

500 miles.

500 weary miles where shoes attempt

To speak to the soul, to the pavement’s

Crackled mouth of challenge: tattered sounds of

The world’s uneasy motion:

500 miles until the island we’re all stretching for.

500 miles until the closest vein as it swims

Purposefully to the skin.

500 miles it takes the one to reach blue bottom

She reaches “red revival” in 2 seconds flat.

The island is covered with the tapestries of lost souls

Who cannot extend their hand, their hearts,

Their minds to another journey of

500 miles.

500 miles of thirst,

of hunger, of frustration

and searching for the identity crisis

that may or may not, reign you back home.

500 miles of these crippled plates where love

might last, but often times doesn’t;

Natives fought here just like you might be

Traipsing now.

It’s 500 miles running toward

The breathtaking presence of metal,

As it creates an even greater story;

It feels like 500 miles from your forearm

To the heart of the problem.

The mind is the island with

Cruel currents and sand too hot to touch

Except, for those rebels,

It burns the palms bare and

The road map plots destinations

Like notes on a piano.

500 miles in the presence of darkness,

Of wheels turning toward nowhere.

500 more toward the breeze of this God

That makes himself known to those on the highway.

500 miles of this expansive and expensive

Existence, where serenity is held

In the palms of a diligent grace;

500 miles just to breathe.

500 miles toward a grip of pudgy appendages,

Out stretched and ready to welcome the voyage.

500 miles beyond snickering razorblades,

500 more toward the spot of redemption.

Tired souls, slippery soles;

500 miles in the swell of an even greater promise;

500 miles.

Miles to letting go,

Miles to the exact place

Where memories breathe for the sake of realization

And where God takes the broken soles

To repair for the journey toward life:

500 more miles because

Building homes of heart is better

Than the island developed for isolation.

 Challenged & Encouraged