Photo by Joao Melo Serrano
The time the room look dingy and you can’t seem to put down the cross you are carrying because it is playing tricks on you. Sit and ponder. Rethink. Take two. Excuse the darkness, the clutter. Don’t despair. Hand over your flag and escape through the open door. Search for a bridge and cross to the other side. Find the gift that surprises you.
Photo by Joao Melo Serreno
On verse one of the fully developed paragraph, beating at drums of my heated plush traits, I rebelled on my puberty becoming this new guided missile pole. In my adult life, I became him, the perfect persona, the crowd pleaser, the begged for mercy kind of gentile creature, the dazzled narrative latched in a page everyone desired.
He told me I was a bug, the fruit pie microbe mutating into a biscuit but I came to be pure as an ice water in a cooler.
Photo by Joao Melo Serrano
Imagine a road trip called, life. A highway called dream. A loved one called, family and a friend called, God. Then turn around to the corner called, Hope and when you get to the bus stop called Success, thank the driver who took you there, Jesus; and when you get to the house called Prosperity, don’t be startled by the guests, introduce yourself to: I marched. I fought and I won. They will be delighted to meet you!
ludlum drive 
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