Poetry

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This Is My Salvation Song
(spoken word remix)


I.
Yo— the bell rings like thunder in a cathedral chest.
I’m on my knees, not because I’m small,
but because something holy just walked in the room.
Candles flicker like they know secrets.
A hand lifts bread and cup— and I swear, time folds.
Blood speaks. Not in guilt. In glory.

II.
Listen— salvation ain’t a get-out clause.
It’s not a golden ticket. It’s God putting on skin,
stepping into the mess, sweating, bleeding, breathing dust.
The cross? Not a loophole. A love letter, written in wounds.
Atonement is the ache that mends.

III.
God found me in the woods, where no one was watching.
No pews. No pulpit. Just wind that knew my name and
trees that didn’t need to explain. The river didn’t preach—
but it washed me anyway. Didn’t ask for doctrine.
Just offered depth. And I dove.

IV.
So yeah— I sing. Not because I’ve got it all figured out,
but because I’ve been caught in the act of being loved.
My voice? Cracked. My rhythm? Wobbly. But this song?
It’s mine. It’s the sound of chains hitting pavement.
Of silence breaking open like dawn. Of the Morning Star
shouting across galaxies: “You. Yes, you. You’re not forgotten.”
This is my salvation song. And I’m not done singing.

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