I was flipping through one of my writing pads when I came across this poem. I remember sketching it a while back. I don’t usually write poetry (which may be obvious in a moment), but these eight lines keep grabbing my attention.
Would someone put a bullet through my head
And autopsy my soul after I’m dead?
This sojourners plot, while tended in stead
remains home to the lonely one lead
To sell his possessions and move far away
To blow kisses to those, the ones who would stay
until finally he stands, looking for them
Those who would give all to come follow Him.