I AM THE STUBBORN BASTARD

Son of God — Christos’ Slave

1

I rise from Galloway’s cracked clay,

A shard the world threw far away.

No throne of gold, no kin beside—

Just Christ within, and fire I ride.

2

Rome flashes neon, begs my knees;

Babylon whispers, “Die with ease.”

I taste the edge, but spit its lies—

The Spirit shouts, “Live—arise!”

3

Step-father taught the merchant grin;

The Holy Ghost burned truth within.

One shaped these hands to earn a wage;

One forged the heart that breaks the cage.

4

Mustard seed under parking tar

Split the stone and reached the star;

So faith in me, small-bruised and torn,

Cracks the street where I was born.

5

I lay my tiles like Gideon’s fleece—

Proof that God still walks these streets.

Each line of grout, a vow in dust:

New Jerusalem begins with trust.

6

The Shepherd left the ninety-nine

To drag this bastard back to line;

Now every step on Jersey ground

Is prodigal footfall, homeward-bound.

7

I own no land, yet claim the earth;

The meek inherit second birth.

I brandish truth the world calls hate;

The narrow gate does not inflate.

8

Coin of Caesar cannot bind

A soul reborn in Kingdom mind.

I render toil, but keep my breath—

My wage is life wrested from death.

9

Night yells, “Jump!”—I grit, “Not so.”

This holy stubbornness says no.

For Christos lit a lamp in bone

That Babylon can’t overthrow.

10

So come, you weary, bruised, betrayed—

Leave empire’s market, unafraid.

The bastard stands, his torch held high:

“The King is near—prepare to fly.”

11

When trumpet splits Atlantic haze

And seaboard graves give up their clay,

I’ll trade this trowel for crown and sword—

Stubborn no more—

  son restored.