Is-real?

A Poem by Apollos

Reflecting on the journey of Jacob to Israel.

My doubts echoing through His Chambers.
Man of God struggling to birth Your nature.
Red soup was the route by which he was given the right.
Dim sight...not trusting the light.

Quiet man with no demands.
Hanging around the tents, Rebekah thinks I’m her man.
Moderation known to all man.
The Lord is at hand!

Is it my hand or Your Promised Land?
Black Friday says your account isn’t in the red like Esau so why not buy a Seesaw for Mee Maw?
Santa falling down the tree top so why don’t we stop buying into the America Dream to conceive a materialistic scheme by which to fulfill all our needs.
Time to hip check me Father so I won’t bother investing in things I won’t think about tomorrow.

Blessed is it to give than to receive.
Blessed are those who believe rather than achieve.
My needs are met when You are my bed rest amongst those who find You to be a Pest: delaying them access to their next treasure chest...
A Stronghold of Glory,
Surely I’ll finally get over believing I’m Unworthy as I won’t stop ringing forth praises louder than my hands can raise as I live from You conquering The Grave.