Notice of absence from Tristan Robert Lange
Life is full of seasons. This is a season of transition for me, where I will be moving with my family to a new location. As such, with much logistics to consider, I am doing my best to keep up. Please know if I accidentally don't respond, it is not because I am ghosting or becoming distant. Once things settle after the move, I am sure life will return to some normalcy. In the meantime, and always:
Read 👓, Write ✍️, Rise 🌅, Realize 🤯.
Tristan 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Life is full of seasons. This is a season of transition for me, where I will be moving with my family to a new location. As such, with much logistics to consider, I am doing my best to keep up. Please know if I accidentally don't respond, it is not because I am ghosting or becoming distant. Once things settle after the move, I am sure life will return to some normalcy. In the meantime, and always:
Read 👓, Write ✍️, Rise 🌅, Realize 🤯.
Tristan 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Jesus still guides—
Always guides—
Mostly away from church,
Encroached upon by
Segregationist salesmen.
Beloved, know this,
Against hypocricsy and fear,
Leaders leverage the truth.
Dead to a homeland
Whitewashed in filth,
Incarceration ain’t incarnation.
Next time? The fire is now!
POET’S NOTE:
An acrostic Scorched Sunday poem. Part of my Scorched Strays collection. Faith has often been used to challenge injustice...and just as often used to defend it. This poem wrestles with the distance between what is proclaimed and what is practiced, between beloved community and exclusion, between incarnation and incarceration. Some contradictions refuse to stay buried. Some fires are still burning, well beyond Beale Street.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, June 19, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: June 21st, 2026 07:24
- Comment from author about the poem: An acrostic Scorched Sunday poem. Part of my Scorched Strays collection. Faith has often been used to challenge injustice...and just as often used to defend it. This poem wrestles with the distance between what is proclaimed and what is practiced, between beloved community and exclusion, between incarnation and incarceration. Some contradictions refuse to stay buried. Some fires are still burning, well beyond Beale Street.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell
- In collections: Scorched Strays.
Offline)
Comments2
Yes, blind faith is the way to go.
Never argue with the man above when heaven awaits you.
Now, if you just pop a large cheque into my hand, I'll prepare your comfy cloud.
This is happening all over the globe. And the establishment is grasping for control and the heavy foot of authority is shaking the ground.
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