Promise {poetry}

This world lays so still

between this life and death,

caught between what seems so real

and what we've been promised

it will be.

We will be alright

when all the dust has settled,

when all our blood has spilled,

and the tears mix with the soil.

Still, we will be alright.

Our names have been engraved

on the very palm 

of Someone else's hand,

and Someone's made a promise

that will be kept,

even if we go it alone

and every piece of our heart

is lost in the dirt and dust.

There is a promise

still standing 

somewhere we can't ruin it

with our filthy hands.

A promise that weighs more 

than our own soul

and the lying monologue

circling inside our mind,

circling in close for the kill.

The world seems

to hold its breath

to see which part of me

will make it out alive

from this silent war,

from this fight

between life and death, 

and how my soul is crushed, 

and Your promise lingers on.

We will be alright,

even if I choose to drown.

We will be alright,

even if hope and purpose can't be found.

We will be alright

because we will not be forgotten

by the One with scarred hands.