The Blessed Traveler

In the heart of a storm, 

metal screams against the sky, 

a plane, our vessel, 

shakes, splinters, 

a descent into chaos. 

Screams rise— 

human despair echoes like thunder, 

gravity looms, 

the ground rushes closer, 

a finality whispered in the wind. 

But then— 

a light, 

blinding, radiant, 

Jesus stands among the shadows, 

with arms wide open, 

calling my name, 

as if the universe had paused. 

In that moment, 

fear dissolves like mist, 

and I feel the warmth of grace,  

lifting me above the wreckage, 

far from the clutches of despair, 

far from the abyss. 

Together we ascend, 

through the gales of broken trust, 

spiraling upwards, 

past the cracks of a shattered sky, 

into a realm untouched by time or pain, 

into the embrace of eternity. 

He takes my hand, 

guiding me beyond the clouds, 

where the air sings a different song, 

and love reigns inexhaustible, 

in the gardens of heaven, 

where every soul finds rest. 

With each heartbeat, 

I dance upon the clouds, 

a testament of mercy, 

etched in the stars, 

in the arms of the Redeemer, 

who turned my fall 

into flight.