Bold Font

There’s  something about bold font

That stands out from the normal lettering

subconsciously hollering within one’s head

 

Because it all started with a young boy entering junior high,

With a spiritual combustion about to bust in on the scene.

These kids, he thought, if only they knew their current final destination

Was perspiration licked off their face by excruciating flames.

 

So he preached fire and brimstone to stone faces, unraveled by conviction.

A young boy’s earnest heart burning too hot, turning the lost into burn victims.

Disappointment met, he took that spiritual flamethrower, now a blame-thrower

 and with shame, told himself to cool it.

 

High school arrived and he took a spiritual back seat, not wanting to repeat the past.

Good grades and actions became the goal, thriving in church, exemplifying a mole

Rising to the surface when it was safe.

“If they can’t see God through my actions,” he thought, “then, for them, it’s too late.”

 

Two years passed of the boy living this lie from the pit of Hell, that one should not tell but rather expel good deeds to students in his circle.

When Christ said he would vomit out the lukewarm, though the boy claimed to believe, a violent heave was given by his Savior.

 

But you see, then this boy was reminded by God of a promise He made in his youth, revealing the façade (Fuh-sod) of his current position in life.

I promise to be a Campus Missionary for Jesus Christ, the greatest heist assigned to me, stealing back souls from the enemy.

 

Now with action and word fused into one heart, the mission from the start became abundantly clear as time ticked by.

Two years left of being “forced” to sit next to the same hurting students with dents in their fenders and rips in their jeans.

And as Franchesca sings openly about herself, he realized the obvious: they too, need help.

 

And now, I’ll pull a white boy Lecre and say that yes, this boy was and still is me.

Because those last two years were not roses and daisies, but in fact seas of the great unknown where feet may fail.

But the Lord won victories day after day, making it an obvious fact that in no way was it me.

 

So are you stepping up and taking spiritual ground on your campus or being a wuss in Christ’ name?

Because if you’re not standing, then you’re just lame.  

 

And if I’m not being abundantly clear, let’s take the word, “Christian,” and within this metaphor, duplicate it, and put one word in bold font and one not.

 

When one reads the word that’s not bold, it sounds appealing, but still it’s concealing something, looking like every other word, blending into the surroundings.

 

But when one reads the word that IS bold, it is abounding in being confident and loud: From the illiterate to the scholar, from the non-believer to the theologian, there within this word, they can all see that something is visually and audibly different.   

 

Are you living bold?

Because there’s just something about bold font

That makes it stand out from the normal lettering

subconsciously hollering within one’s head.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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