The Promise

by Nathalie Jackson

The merciless scythe of winter
Has come down hard.
It’s wrapped itself
Like a warmth-less blanket around my heart.
The chill from deep inside of me
Seems to never end.
It calls out to me,
Drawing me deeper and deeper into its jowls.
I’ve dived this time.
I haven’t feared the cold recesses
Of my own dark caves.
I’ve danced the eternal dance of death and rebirth
With my own demons.
And still I breathe.
I’ve plunged deeper and deeper into the abyss
Of my own sorrow.
And still I awaken in the morning.
Something continues to pull me out…
Out of a deep slumber.
Out of the dark night.
With a promise.

A 100% fully refundable guarantee
That the sun will in fact rise again.
A thread that weaves its way
Through the caverns and tunnels of my own inner turmoil.
Showing me the way out.
Like breadcrumbs in the night.

I hear the promise
Of my soul’s yearning.
The promise of life
Longing for life itself.
I cannot stop the feeling
That life is living through me.
I am life itself.
I can no longer hide.
She has finally caught up to me
With her promise.

And this time…
I see.

Journal, Volume 2 Issue 4